


Piercing blue eyes

by EuropeanBookLover



Category: North and South (UK TV), North and South - Elizabeth Gaskell, North and South - Elizabeth Gaskell | UK TV
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, If North and South was a romance novel, Love, Mid-Canon, Misunderstandings, Pride and Prejudice References, Secrets, Sexual Tension, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:53:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 38,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24960370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EuropeanBookLover/pseuds/EuropeanBookLover
Summary: A mid-canon retelling of North and South. Starts on the night of the dinner party - what if Margaret and Mr. Thornton understood each other far sooner?
Relationships: Margaret Hale & John Thornton, Margaret Hale/John Thornton
Comments: 162
Kudos: 229





	1. Prologue

“Miss Hale!” Margaret was not listening, her mind closed in deep thought. The conversation around her was thriving and all the women were gossiping about one thing or the other, but no one has spoken to her. Not one of them paid her much attention, some, she noticed, even whispered to each other while glancing towards her. She did not mind them, though it hurt not to have anyone on her side. Though Fanny did sometimes cast a pitiful look towards her, it was in no way friendly and Mrs. Thornton scowled at her so much that she thought she would burn a hole through her. After her exchange with Mr. Thornton at the dinner table, it was not surprising that a woman so proud of her son was astonished by this young strange woman from the South who dared to look him in the eye and speak her mind. Margaret was not sure why she had to argue with Mr. Thornton in that (surely improper) way, but she could not help herself. Whenever she was around Mr. Thornton, words escaped her mouth before she could stop them and there was nothing she could do about it.

“Miss Hale!” Margaret looked up, startled. The deep voice that called her was unmistakable. She was looking into the blue piercing eyes of Mr. Thornton. The conversation around her kept on going, though a few of the women started to whisper and kept watching the two of them. “Mr. Thornton.” She answered and stood up from her chair. “Your father wishes to go; I think he has had enough of our mill talk.” He then lowered his voice and, while taking her towards the door, spoke with a hint of urgency: “I am afraid your father is not much of a drinker, Miss Hale, and it is past time that he goes home. I would hate it if he were to embarrass himself. He is a very clever and intelligent man and the gossip would do no good to him.”

Margaret was almost touched at Mr. Thornton’s thoughtfulness – to fetch her even after she had spoken to him in such an improper manner just a few hours previously was very generous of him. She nodded and turned around to the women and wished them goodbye. Only Mrs. Thornton stood up and wished her a good night and her mother a quick recovery, though there was no kindness in her words and not even a hint of friendliness in her eyes. Margaret thanked Mrs. Thornton for her words and for the dinner, which she accompanied by a compliment of the table arrangements and moved towards the door.

Her father was standing in the hallway, and though not drunk, Margaret though him very near it. Mr. Thornton helped Mr. Hale to the hallway, though now that Margaret saw her father walking, she was assured that he was not drunk at all – it was more a combination of one too many brandies with his fatigue. Margaret followed the men to the door, where Mr. Hale took his coat and hat from the servant while Margaret dressed in her coat. Mr. Thornton did not need to see them out, yet he stayed and watched them both. Margaret was unable to look back at him. As she took her father’s arm and she started to say her thanks to Mr. Thornton, her father froze. “Margaret! I am deeply sorry, how silly of me! I forgot my gloves in the parlor!” He exclaimed. “I can get them for you, Mr. Hale-“ “No, John, there really is no need. I am not yet so old as to forget how to get to the parlor and back…” Mr. Hale said in reply and shuffled back into the house, leaving Margaret outside with Mr. Thornton. John Thornton looked around himself uncomfortably, wondering at Mr. Hale for leaving the two alone, as Margaret nervously shivered.

“Are you cold, Miss Hale?” he asked her suddenly.

“No, not at all, Mr. Thornton,” she responded quietly.

They both stood there in the chilly evening, both looking at their feet or their hands. “I believe I owe you an apology, Mr. Thornton…“ Margaret started, noticing the way he shook his head.

“No, indeed, Miss Hale, the apology should be all mine. As much as we disagree on this particular subject, you are entitled to your opinion.” John looked at her, wondering what she was thinking. She smiled shyly and looked him directly in the eyes.  
  
“I may be entitled to it, and am surprised and glad you think that, but I still behaved most improperly and insulted you at your table. I will not apologize for my opinions, but I will for professing them in such a way as to make everyone uncomfortable and ruin your dinner party.”

“I would never ask you to apologize for your opinions. They are yours and they make you.. well, they make you Margaret Hale from Helstone. Without them, you could be any woman out of finishing school with a parasol. And about the dinner party – at least you kept the conversation at the table lively and the town gossipers satisfied. I for one would rather argue with you like that every time if it meant avoiding the usual polite conversation and small talk about the weather,” he said.

She looked at him, amused. “Now, Mr. Thornton, I believe you are teasing me. You would grow very tired of the disagreements and only wish for a conversation about the newest Italian dress or for Fanny to sit behind the piano and sing for a while,” she smiled and brushed her hair from her face.

“Oh, indeed, I do not think it would be as bad as that!” he chuckled, the broadest smile Margaret has yet seen on him residing on his face. “I… I rather like us disagreeing. It keeps my mind engaged. Though I must admit that I found a lot of sense in the things you said and even found myself agreeing in one,” he smiled weakly at her, noticing how close they were standing to each other.

“Impossible! The two of us agreeing?” she exclaimed before she could have stopped herself, realizing that she actually wanted to ask him in which particular matter he agreed. Mr. Thornton chuckled again and looked at her thoughtfully.  
“What did you agree with me about?” she asked after a moment.

“You were right. It is indeed worthwhile to look at both sides of a question. Though I do not pretend to approve of the strikers – as a master, how could I? – I quite see what you mean. You are… Miss Hale, I find you very clever. And I admire your dedication for the things you believe in, however much I might disagree overall,” he dropped almost into a whisper. He sighed, then looked around him, deciding whether he should continue speaking.  
“Miss Hale, I have been wondering… I know you probably find me arrogant, vulgar and repulsive-“ Her breath stopped, and she felt dizzy. She felt that this conversation has turned into an improper one amazingly fast. She only now realized how close they were – she could feel his breath on her face and see the emotion in his blue eyes as if they were speaking on their own. She realized they were stained with pain when he started speaking again and, though unable to explain it, she did not want him to feel like that. Without thinking, she grabbed his hand in hers and heard herself speak.

“I do not, Mr. Thornton, in fact-“

“John! I am sorry for making you wait so long for me, we really should be going, Margaret,” Mr. Hale’s voice resonated through the door that was left ajar. Margaret jumped up and pulled her hand from his, stepping away from him. “The gloves were in the library, though I do not even remember being there today! Is not that strange? Anyway, I must thank you, John, for inviting us tonight, I have enjoyed myself… You must thank your mother again for us, the party was splendidly prepared.”  
“Aye, I will, of course. We are glad you could attend. I know you do not particularly approve of our northern society,” John said in his thick northern accent and glanced at Margaret, who drew a deep breath in order to say something, but her father spoke first.  
“Oh, nonsense, nonsense. John, I hope you will be able to attend our next lesson on Tuesday?” Mr. Hale answered and looked for his pocket watch.  
“Depends on the strikers and what they intend to do,” he cast a meaningful glance at Margaret, “but I believe I should be able to come.”  
“Of course, of course. More Plato, I should think, for you are a natural!” Mr. Hale smiled. John smiled as well at the compliment, one of his small smiles that Margaret had started to notice.

“Well, we really must be going. Good night, John. Margaret, come along, so we can still catch your mother awake…” Mr. Hale proclaimed as he shook John’s hand.

“Good night Mr. Hale,” he answered.

“Good night Mr. Thornton,” said Margaret and shook his hand, feeling their fingers touch and a shiver went down her spine, as she thought of their joined hands.

“Good night Miss Hale,” his hand lingered and he stared into her eyes, his piercing blue mixing with hers. When he noticed her father standing with his back already towards them, his left hand sprung up and touched her face, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. Margaret shivered, though it was not because of the cold. As if her shudder awoke him, he brought his hand back away from her face rather abruptly and Margaret thought she could almost see a hint of blush on his face. She let go of his hand slowly, turned around, and took her father’s, walking with him slowly from the mill towards their home.  
Her father started talking about one of the problems of the strike, discussing the psychological turmoil of the strikers and how history must have affected their behavior, yet Margaret found she could not listen. She could only think about her hand in John Thornton’s hand, his sudden confession, his piercing blue eyes, and his hand, though only briefly, on her face. Before turning the corner, Margaret looked back through the closing mill gate and could see his tall and dark figure looking after her. For some reason, though she did not know why, she could not keep from smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I am not sure anyone will be reading this, but I have been thinking about this story for a while... I will post another two chapters definitely, as I have already written them - please let me know if anyone is interested...? Thanks for reading:-)


	2. Chapter 2

As John Thornton entered the room, most of the men turned to him again and continued their own conversations. Hamper wanted to ask another question about the wheel used in the mill and Henderson wanted to speak to him about one of the shipping arrangements from Egypt, yet John could not concentrate on any of their questions and comments. His mind was soaring, as he could not stop thinking about the strange encounter between him and Miss Hale. What had he been thinking? Just the fact alone that they were standing there, both unmarried, outside and with no chaperone was very improper, but if anyone had seen John touching her in that familiar way… He did not want to think about what it would do to Margaret’s reputation.  
He walked away from Hamper, who, after getting only a couple of words out of John realized that he is not going to get the information he wanted and sat down in a chair, virtually disappearing from the room. He wished to be alone, without these men (if he could even call them that), or better still, with her. He rubbed his temples as he thought of some of the things he said to her. Though all of them were true, he had no idea why he told her – when he was around her, he could not control himself as well as he did normally. Words escaped his mouth before he could stop them or even know that he wanted to say them. He thought about her eyes, her hand touching his and wondered at what she might have said before they were interrupted. Perhaps, he thought, it may have all gone different if Mr. Hale took a little longer…  
“Oh, do not even get me started on her! What was Thornton thinking, inviting them? Him I would not mind as much, though he seems too simple for our kind of entertainment - she does not know her place. I tell you, if I were her father, I would have never let her speak like that – not at home, and definitely not at this type of gathering!” John heard Slickson say quietly to Hamper, who nodded.

“Aye! And how rude, supporting the strikers during this time and here, when she has no idea what she is talking about!”

He could not listen. He stood up abruptly and with his height, he towered over both men, who seemed surprised to see him there.

“Never say things like that about the Hales again! You have no authority to judge their characters,” he said, in a deep voice, his eyes sparkling with rage. He looked at Slickson’s face, turned around, and went to get himself a brandy. From the corners of his eyes, he could see that everyone was whispering now, glancing towards him and he cursed himself for not being able to control himself. He knew that it did not look well and so he went back to Henderson and started talking to him about the shipping from Egypt and how the strike is going to pause the orders. He knew how to talk to these men to get them interested and speak on their own, so in a short time, the whole room was talking about many topics, while he silently pretended to listen.

It was after midnight when he escorted the last guests outside and the maid closed the door behind them. John was tired and wanted nothing else than to go to bed so he wished his mother and Fanny goodnight. Walking up the stairs, he could hear Fanny speaking in whispers: “That Miss Hale, how could she talk so? When we have been nothing than good to her family and she comes here, insulting John and our family, well really all the people here! Mr. Watson – oh Mama, I think he would indeed do very nicely if only he were a bit younger – was disgusted at her behavior…”  
John walked into his room and slammed the door, washed himself and changed for bed. He was so tired and all he wished was to throw his worries about the strike aside, yet sleep eluded him. Whenever he closed his eyes, he could feel her hand in his, his hand on her cheek, her eyes were before him. He wondered about what she was thinking, standing there outside with him. He liked talking to her alone – he felt that even when they disagreed, they could explain their points to each other and even banter in a friendly way…  
He wished to see her again – no, he needed to see her again.  
Margaret tossed and turned until the morning. As if the very confusing encounter with Mr. Thornton (of all people, Margaret thought) was not enough, when they returned home, she discovered an awful truth. She now wondered - perhaps she had known, deep down for some time now, that her mother was indeed very ill, but to have it confirmed hurt her deeply. She did not want to distress her mother further, but once she was alone in her bed, she could let all her emotions out. She cried for what felt like hours (though probably mere minutes) and when she finally did fall asleep, she had the most terrible nightmares. She needed to be alone, but not here. She needed air, somewhere, where she did not suffocate and where she could think over everything. The more she was lying in her bed, the more she felt like the walls were closing in around her. When she saw the first glimpse of sunshine, she practically jumped out of her bed.  
¨ After dressing herself (with some difficulty, as she did not want to wake up Dixon so early), she wrote a short note to inform her parents and Dixon that she has gone out and will be back for lunch. There was no need for secrecy and yet she felt she should not write that she is just going out to think – it did not seem proper or right. Margaret knew that Dixon would understand. She walked quietly down the stairs and put her note into the parlor where Dixon would find it as soon as she woke up. She then took her coat and hat, stepped outside, and quietly closed the door behind her.  
The morning air was chilly, but Margaret did not mind. She breathed in, deep breaths filling her lungs, and walked through the quiet street. She did not meet anyone she knew, though she could see a few people when she came nearer Princeton. Most of them have probably spent their night in the street. Margaret walked through the streets and for the first time in her life, she did not hate it. Though it was grey and industrial, she finally felt as if she understood it at least a bit. She walked in the direction of the graveyard, walked up the hill, and stood at the top of it, overlooking the city.  
Even though she knew it was improper, she took her coat and put it on the ground near an elm tree. As she breathed in the freshest air she could in this strange city, she sat down, gathering her skirts around her, and leaned against the tree. As she watched the city slowly waking up with sunshine, she could not help herself and thought about her mother – how many more times will she be able to see the sunshine? Her mother hated this city and yet was resolved to live out the rest of her days, however many (or not many), here. Not in Helstone. Not near Frederick. It made her sick with anger at the world and at herself – for as much as she was worrying about her mother, she still felt very selfish. Selfish for starting to like the city that was killing her mother, selfish for abandoning her like this and spending her days elsewhere and selfish for thinking about him. As much as Margaret cared about her mother, her acquaintance with M. Thornton left her puzzled and confused and she thought about him so often that she felt guilty.  
All of a sudden, she could not keep the tears hidden anymore and she started crying quiet yet terrible tears. She wanted to go back, to that happy time when Frederick was with them, in Helstone, her home. When her father was a clergyman and Margaret’s biggest worry was if she had brought enough baskets for the parishioners. There was so much she wished to change, but at that moment she knew none of it was coming back and she put her hands on her face, hoping no one was yet awake enough to walk up the hill that morning. Luckily, it seemed all of Milton was asleep.  
All but one.  
“Miss Hale!” she heard the voice, as she felt a hand on her shoulder.

When John woke up that morning, after sleeping for a few hours, it was still dark. He dressed himself and quietly went out of the house, first stopping at the mill for a letter he meant to post. As he walked through the city, sunshine had slowly appeared over the highest buildings. John posted his letter and meant to walk home, but his legs were not listening and started carrying him elsewhere, towards Crampton. He knew it was awfully early to make a call, and yet he walked on until he was standing before the house belonging to Mr. Hale. He knocked, a silent knock, so as to not wake up anyone except for the servants, whom he assumed were already awake.  
Nothing happened, so he knocked again. He heard a shuffle, then something falling. After a while, the door opened slightly, and the face of a chubby woman appeared. She had her hair in a braid and was squinting at the light outside. John only now realized that she was in her nightgown and stepped back.  
“What in God’s name is the matter, Mr. Thornton?” she spat out, leaving John aghast at the manner and tone in which this woman addressed him.  
“Well, I… I have come, because…” John struggled, as he just realized that he had no idea why he came here and had no excuse as to why he was bothering the family so early.  
“Just because I am a servant, does not mean I have all morning, Mr. Thornton,” she said impatiently.  
For some reason, he found it funny but was afraid to let it know. Instead, he straightened up and in a serious manner said: “I borrowed a book from Mr. Hale.”  
“And?”  
“I have come to return it, you see.”  
“Well you can give it to me then, I will get it to the Master. Though why it was so urgent I have no idea.” She straightened her bare hand out.  
John could have banged himself on the head – of course he had not brought a book with him, and yet now he used it as an excuse.  
“What I mean, miss…?” he started, realizing just now that even though he had visited Mr. Hale before, he never noticed the woman’s name and felt a bit ashamed.  
“Dixon.”  
“Miss Dixon. What I mean is that I have come to borrow a book from Mr. Hale,” he stammered. Dixon looked at him carefully, as if to consider whether or not it would be proper to smash the door against his head. Even though she was much shorter than he was, he felt very intimidated by her.  
She sighed and opened the door more to let him inside. She then hurriedly disappeared through one of the doors, and so John waited. He found himself amused by this woman and when he thought about it, about the whole situation. What was he thinking?  
After a while, Dixon returned, now dressed, her hair in an untidy, hurriedly put together bun. She scowled at him.  
“So which book have you come to borrow, that it had to be so early? The Bible?”  
“No, indeed. I… well, actually, has Miss Hale awoken yet? I do not know the name of the book, as it was just mentioned to me by Mr. Hale and Miss Hale and she told me I could borrow it from her as she had just finished reading it…” John started. Dixon raised an eyebrow but did not say a thing. Instead, she walked up the stairs and disappeared into the house, so John waited again.  
When she returned, she had a slightly puzzled look on her face, looked at him as if to say something, and then went into a different door, into the parlor. She then returned, and John could see that she was stuffing a piece of paper into her pocket.  
“Miss Hale has already gone, Mr. Thornton. If you wish, you can wait for Mr. Hale, though you have come at such an ungodly hour that I wonder it is worth the trouble to wait so long,” she said.  
“Gone? Gone where? So early? You can tell me if she is still sleeping, I would not mind,” he said, surprised.  
“She… Mr. Thornton. Everyone needs to be alone sometimes,” she said slowly, as if hinting to him.  
“Has something happened?” he asked.  
“It is not my place to say, Mr. Thornton, and especially not to you. She is not here, and she will not be here yet for some hours. If there is something I know about her, it is that if she wishes to be alone, she is gone for several hours,” she answered.  
“And is everything alright? Is she well?” he asked before he could stop himself. For the first time, he could see different emotions in her face. He thought he could even see tears in her eyes, which scared him – to see such a formidable woman with tears in her eyes was frightening.  
“Could you tell me where I could find her? Please? If she is suffering, it is a terrible thing to do alone…” he said slowly.  
She stopped and looked at him.  
“Mr. Thornton, I am not sure… if she wishes to be alone, we must allow her that – she is a grown woman after all. Besides, I do not know where she has gone, she had only written that she has, but not where,” she said, eyeing him carefully. He felt as if this woman could read him like a book. It was quite uncomfortable – though he was usually outspoken about his emotions, it was only to some people, and he had seen Dixon only a few times in this house and had never spoken to her before that morning. Even when he took tea with Mr. Hale, Margaret was the one serving it.  
He nodded slowly and turned around to exit.  
“I suppose you do not need that book then…” she said, a sly smile on her face.  
He turned around quickly, only to see her knowing smile and felt heat rush to his cheeks.  
“How…?” he started, then stopped himself. It was pointless to ask.  
“It was quite a flimsy excuse, sir. And besides, I was not born yesterday. You came here basically running in the morning with flimsy excuses that could have been solved only by having Miss Hale down?” she said. John felt like he has never blushed more in his life.  
“Miss Dixon, I-“  
“I will not tell them, do not worry. Though they will all find out, sooner or later,” she started to lead him outside. As she started to close the door, she stopped and looked at him. “She likes to walk through the graveyard and up the hill,” she smiled at him.  
“I… Thank you, Miss Dixon,” he answered, and the door shut before him. He stood there for a second, wondering what on earth had just happened. Then he turned around and started to walk through the street towards the graveyard.  
He walked through the streets, somewhat hurrying his pace. He hoped she would be there, and he could comfort her in some way. If indeed something had happened, he did not want to leave her alone. Even though she might find his presence awful (though after the dinner party, who knew?) he had to comfort her, though how he did not know.  
He practically ran through the graveyard, which was thankfully empty. He rushed past the gravestones and the tombs to the hill and started to climb it. On top of it, he felt disappointed, he could not see her – where was she, if not here? He started to wonder – would Dixon send him purposefully elsewhere? Though she cared nothing for him, she cared for Margaret and, even after speaking with her once, he could not believe her capable of that.  
He looked around once more and then saw her. A small, shrugged figure sitting near the elm tree, in the shadows, holding her face in her hands, sobbing quietly. Something stabbed at him, in his chest – it hurt him to see her like this, he did not want this for her. Whatever had happened, he wanted to tell her that he was here for her, but he could not find the words. He walked quietly towards her, kneeled next to her, and put his hand on her shoulder. “Miss Hale,” he whispered.  
She jumped and looked up at him, her face red and full of tears and miserable. He did not know what he was doing, and neither was she, but she wrapped her hands around him as he did around her, sitting down next to her. He held her close, still stunned at this sudden closeness of them, as he felt her unsteady breath and heard her quiet sobs. He did not know how long they sat there, holding each other in their tight and gentle embrace.  
Margaret did not know either. She did not know what he was doing here but she did not care. He was comforting, his hands on her back, his face right next to hers – she felt safe in his arms and could feel her breath steadying down. She could hear him breathing against her, as she knew he must have felt her and suddenly, she did not want anything else than for this to go on forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So I posted the second chapter today and probably will post the third one tomorrow. I am working on the fourth and fifth - I have the basics of the story written down but I still have to sit down and actually put the words together... I am quite nervous - I have written two fanfics years ago, but I have not since then. I hope you'll like it :)


	3. Chapter 3

John was stroking Margaret’s hair and whispering calming words, as he was gently holding her in his arms. He did not want to let go of her, not ever. It was at that moment, that he realized it. He did not just like her – he loved Margaret.  
He knew he could not just tell her there, though he ached to do so, knowing that bundling up his feelings inside him would do no good. However, springing this information on her that moment would be too much, he knew. She needed time – whatever has happened must have hurt Margaret deeply. However much he wanted to know, however much he wanted to be with her, he knew that he had to wait for her. He felt her hands on his back and her head next to his and he felt like bursting – he had never been so close to someone – not only physically, but emotionally as well.  
Margaret’s tears had stopped and at that moment, she was selfishly enjoying the comfort and safety of Mr. Thornton’s body, as if he were shielding her from her worries. He was so gentle with her – she would have never guessed him to be like this and it felt strange to her – the Master of Marlborough Mill, ever so severe and stern, holding her gently and stroking her hair. She felt something move inside her as if she had butterflies inside her.  
  
Suddenly, she heard footsteps and she realized the impropriety of this, though beautiful, very inappropriate moment. She let go of Mr. Thornton, quite suddenly – he let go of her rather more reluctantly and she felt she could almost see the question marks in his blue eyes when he gazed at her. Margaret stood up hurriedly, stepping away from Mr. Thornton and brushing the dirt and leaves off her dress. John, by now realizing what had made her jump so, stood up as well and stepped more behind the tree, so as to be as invisible as he possibly could. If Margaret was not scared of the footsteps, she might have laughed – his tall figure crouching behind the tree, quite obvious to an onlooker, had indeed something quite funny about it.  
A figure appeared near Margaret and she recognized it to be Bessy, her friend. How stupid of her, she thought – she knew perfectly well that Bessy liked to walk here to ease up her lungs for a few moments. With a glance of recognition, Bessy hurried her pace towards Margaret, embracing her in a welcome.  
  
“Margaret, how nice to see you here. I hoped you would show up later, I must hear about the fancy dinner yesterday… What are you doing here so early?”  
  
“I needed some fresh air to clear my head. I do mean to stop by later, Bessy.” Margaret answered.  
  
Her friend looked at her as if pondering her next question.  
“Indeed. What about Mr. Thornton?” she asked with a smile.  
  
Margaret froze and stammered: “Mr. Thorn-, Mr. Thornton? What about him?” she tried to keep her face relaxed but could, much to her embarrassment, feel the heat rushing to her cheeks. Damn it, she thought – why do I need to blush so?  
  
Her friend cocked her head amusingly at her. “I only meant – how was the dinner, if he behaved friendly enough and if you have found him more to your liking… Though, I dare say you have.” Margaret blushed fiercely, yet Bessy continued after a short pause, with a smirk on her face: “And why on Earth is he hiding behind the tree?”  
  
Margaret felt she could not get any redder. She stammered with her words, realizing how this must have looked and what her friend must have been thinking.  
  
“I-, what? I do not-“ she started, realizing that she had no excuse and that there would be no sense in trying to deny his presence – her blushes have ensured that Bessy knew of her knowledge of him being there.  
  
“Calm down, I won’t tell.” Bessy chuckled. “Though you could stop by later, I long to hear everything” she left emphasis on the word ‘everything’ and smirked at her friendly. Margaret smiled lightly.  
  
“Of course, I will stop by and bring something. I would like to go with you now, but… I need to take care of something.” Margaret said with a smile.  
  
“Oh, of course, I understand you need to take care of something…” she winked at her and then added: “I look forward to seeing you later, Margaret.”  
  
Bessy then stepped aside and started walking away from her. Margaret could see her coughing, though she could not hear it and when she looked more closely, it seemed that Bessy was just laughing.  
  
As soon as Bessy disappeared from sight, she could hear footsteps from the tree and turned around just in to see Mr. Thornton brushing leaves from his shoulders. Though he had his usual stern look on his face, Margaret thought his eyes laughing, and as he came nearer, indeed they were. He stopped before her and looked at her.  
  
“Was that…?”  
  
“Bessy, yes. She sometimes walks here; she needs fresh air as much as she can get… Her lungs are… are very bad,” Margaret answered. John winced – he knew that she was working in his factory and was ill because of it. Of course he knew of the problems of the cotton fluff in the air and what it did to his workers – he could feel the effects on himself in the winter when he woke up many a morning with a feeling of not being able to breathe. Margaret noticed his worried look and held his elbow, without even realizing it.  
  
“It is not your fault – she has had it from her work when she was a child – from a different mill…” she said, realizing that, for some reason, she was defending him.  
  
“Still. I do understand your hatred towards us Masters now more clearly… And do not think, please that we are all unfeeling. I know of the problems of the industry, of course I do. I have had the wheel installed to help it at least a bit. But, it is still a young industry and I genuinely believe that there will be a solution to the problem sooner or later…” he started talking.  
Margaret looked at him in wonder. This man, whom everybody, including her for most of their acquaintance, thought so unfeeling and hard, was so different from her first impression. He was a complicated man to be sure, but Margaret understood him now, if only a little bit.  
  
“I know and.. and I understand, even. It is simply hard when one has to live with the effect of it on one’s closed ones,” she said slowly, seeing his shoulders ease a bit. “But there is something which you assume incorrectly…” she continued.  
  
John raised an eyebrow at her, wondering what she meant.  
  
“I do not hate all of you Masters,” she said slowly, looking up at him.  
  
“Really?” he said quickly, his heart almost stopping.  
  
“No indeed. I am starting to rather like some of them,” she smiled shyly.  
  
John cocked his head at her, wondering if she was indeed flirting with him.  
  
“For example, Mr. Slickson appears to be most amiable,” she said.  
  
John looked at her bewildered, only to see her lips curling into a smile as she started laughing quietly. He could not help it, her laughter infected him, and he started to chuckle as well. As they stood there, laughing together, Margaret realized she should return home. Before she could, however, she felt she had to speak to him.  
  
“Mr. Thornton, I really am very grateful for your kind words and help, however, I must apologize for my actions, they were very improper indeed,” she said, almost haughtily, as she tried to collect herself.  
  
John looked down at her. “You, Miss Hale, must not apologize for anything that you have done. You also must not thank me, for I did nothing, but especially – do not apologize. If you had not noticed, I was not an unwilling recipient…” he answered. She smiled.  
  
“But.. I must ask you. What has happened? How can I help?” he asked. In an instant, he could detect sadness in her eyes, though she quickly covered it. These people from the South, John thought, how easily can they mask their emotions sometimes?  
  
“Unfortunately, there is nothing you can do, Mr. Thornton. Nor I, for that matter. Nothing can be done about it, which makes it ultimately even more infuriating.” She said. He waited for her to say something. When it seemed she would not continue, he opened his mouth to start speaking, only to be interrupted by her sudden words.  
  
“My mother is dying, Mr. Thornton,” she said quickly. As she spoke, she realized this was the first time she had said the words aloud, and somehow, the truth hurt her even more. John could see her eyes getting watery.  
  
John did not know what to say. He did not know how to react to information like that. He was overwhelmed, but not particularly surprised. From what he had seen in their house, the Hales must have known or at least supposed that this was happening. Perhaps they were just trying to ignore it, wishing it to go away.  
  
He held both her hands in his, brushing his fingers over her knuckles. “I am so sorry. But you will handle it, I believe in you. You are the strongest woman I have ever met and whatever lays before you, you will manage – indeed you are stronger than most men, Margaret,” he said quietly, his words urgent. He brought her hands closer and kissed them, then slowly letting them back down.  
Margaret felt overwhelmed. No one has ever spoken to her like this, with so much emotion and bluntness – and she enjoyed hearing him call her by her name, however improper it might be. Her face was just an inch from his and she longed to kiss him, an urge she had never felt before. She leaned in, her face mere millimeters from his.  
  
Before she could do what she wished to at that moment, his hands moved to her shoulders, holding her back from him.  
  
“Margaret, don’t,” he said quietly. She leaned back and looked him in the eyes, surprised – she was not thinking, of course Mr. Thornton would not want to kiss her – why would he?  
She leaned even more away from him, pulling her hands from his, and blushed with shame - shame for being so overcome with her feelings to embarrass herself so. Before she could turn around, he continued.  
  
“Don’t do something you’ll regret, please,” he continued slowly, formulating every word with care. “You are tired, hurt, shocked, and overwhelmed and I would hate to take advantage of you in such a way when you are so. You would only regret it later and condemn me for the rest of your life and I do not wish for that. I…You are not thinking clearly, please understand…”  
  
“I understand, Mr. Thornton. I only thought…” she stopped, taking a deep breath, “No matter. I thank you once more, Mr. Thornton, for your help. I should go now before my parents think I have run away.”  
  
“I shall walk with you,” he said abruptly.  
  
“Thank you, Mr. Thornton, but I would rather walk alone. I have a lot on my mind, you understand,” she said resolutely. She could see the hurt in his eyes and he could see hers, but she truly needed to be alone, especially after what had transpired between them.  
  
“Good day, Mr. Thornton. And thank you again,” she said, turning from him and walking down the hill towards the graveyard.  
  
“Good day, Miss Hale,” he replied, rather disheartened.  
  
As he watched her go, his own feelings in chaos, he could see her wiping a tear from her face, then retaining her elegant posture, as if nothing had happened and walking with her head high.  
He looked after her for a long time, even when she had gone from the graveyard into the streets until she turned into a tiny unrecognizable figure in the shadows of the grey buildings.


	4. Chapter 4

As Margaret walked through the dusty streets of Milton, her mind was elsewhere. Though the streets were not as busy as usual due to the strike, she met a few acquaintances, with whom she was obliged to exchange pleasantries – a task very hard to do indeed, when one is in a state such as Margaret was.  
  
She, for the second time that morning, wanted to be alone. Yet she knew that she had already been selfish once that day and instead of losing her way in the streets, she walked home. She walked into the hall and closed the door behind her quietly. She put her coat on the hanger and her hat on the desk, then walked up the staircase, trying to be as quiet as possible – she did not want to startle anyone.  
  
She walked towards the door to her bedchamber and closed it behind her, sighing and turning around. She washed her face and changed her dress since the one she had on was very untidy from the dirt in which she spent quite a long time. Margaret looked at herself in the mirror – she looked paler than usual, her eyes were still a bit red and her hair was not elegant at all. She started to pin it differently when she heard a knock on her door.  
  
“Come in,” she said.  
  
The door opened and in came Dixon, with a stern look on her face. “Well, miss, I am glad you are back so early. I was getting worried about what I should tell your parents, but your father had an errand in town and your mother has not yet left her bed-chamber, so neither wondered where you were. You are quite lucky. It is not proper for a young lady such as yourself to walk alone through a city at night.”  
  
Margaret sighed. “Thank you, Dixon, for not telling them. I do not know what I was thinking – I just needed time to process everything, I needed to be alone. And it was not night, I left early in the morning.” Dixon took her hands and put them away from her head, then started to work herself with Margaret’s hair, styling it in a much more professional way than Margaret had that morning.  
  
“You could have waited for me to dress you and do your hair, I would have gotten up if I had known…” she started.  
  
“No, Dixon, I did not want to wake you. Truth is, I went away during sunrise and thought of it just at that moment. I am sorry, Dixon. Sometimes I just… need time to think. Usually alone in my room would do, but not today. I am sorry, I know it is not proper for me to walk around alone like that.”  
  
Dixon paused her hands in her hair and looked at her. “Well, I guess no harm has been done and I understand you needed to think after yesterday… And besides, it is not like you were alone that long anyway, miss,” Dixon said, a small smile settling on her face.  
  
  
Margaret froze under her hands. “Whatever do you mean?” she asked, trying to talk as calmly as possible, steadying her breath.  
  
“I do not mean anything! I am just saying that there were probably other people as well in the streets,” Dixon said.  
  
Margaret eased her shoulders and thanked God in her mind. She took a glass of water from the table before which she was seated and poured water into it from a pitcher that sat next to it. She took the glass to her mouth and drank.  
  
“How is Mr. Thornton?” Dixon said suddenly.  
  
Margaret coughed abruptly, settling the glass back on the table and trying to calm her cough and surprise at her words. Dixon smirked at her reaction and continued pinning her hair up.  
  
“Mr. Thornton? I trust he is well – I mean, he looked well enough yesterday at the dinner party,” Margaret said, urging her voice to calm down.  
  
Dixon nodded and kept pinning her hair, here and there. She did not have to do so anymore since the style was done, and Margaret knew exactly what that meant – she wanted to say something but was pondering whether or not to do so. Dixon did that often – and every time the words came out, sooner or later.  
  
Margaret turned around, forcing her to stop working on her already finished hairstyle, and looked at her.  
  
“Dixon, stop it. If you have something you wish to say, say it. If you do not, stop fidgeting and leave my hair – both of us know that it has been done these past three minutes at least,” Margaret finally said.  
  
Dixon sighed and sat down onto the stool next to the dressing table. If it were not Dixon, Margaret would have been appalled at the manner of her servant, but she was quite used to Dixon’s strange ways. The last couple of years Dixon had been more of a companion to the family than a servant, though she still did wait on them and cooked.  
  
“I just… I hope you are being careful not to be seen together, miss,” she said, quickly continuing at Margaret’s wide eyes, “What I mean is, that it would do you no good to destroy your reputation for him, even if you are quite sure…”  
  
“Quite sure? Quite sure about what? What on Earth do you think is going on Dixon?” Margaret asked, though she was afraid of already knowing the answer.  
  
Dixon stopped for a moment and closed her eyes. “What I mean, miss, is you must not allow it to go far, not before marriage, anyway. Times are changing, but not that quickly and if you were seen…”  
  
Margaret’s eyes widened with shock at her words. “You would think me capable of something like that? Is that what you think happened this morning? That I left, the morning after I found out my mother is dying, to be with some man before marriage? Are you truly accusing me of such impropriety?” she said, astonished.  
  
Dixon flushed a bit. “Not some man, of course, I meant Mr. Thornton. I only thought… I am trying to advise you, since your mother can’t do so as well, to warn you… Men often pretend they have feelings in order to.. to get their way and it can never end well. In the South, men are all gentlemen, but from what I have seen here, not many gentlemen can be seen around. Mr. Thornton seems like a nice man, but I have been cursing myself all morning for telling him where you were – I do not know him well, what if.. I mean… What I am trying to say is-“  
  
Margaret held a hand high in order to stop her. “Mr. Thornton… did indeed find me, thanks to you. However, no such impropriety as you suggest took place and I am astonished that you would think so of me, Dixon. I thought you liked me. I would never do anything like that, and I thought you would be one of the people who knew me well enough to know that. And Mr. Thornton is indeed a gentleman! I- I am very disappointed in you, for I thought you a friend. If you indeed thought him capable of such thing – which I assure you, he is not – why did you tell him where to find him?”  
It was the first time Margaret had allowed Mr. Thornton to be a gentleman and now when she thought about it, she realized how true those words were. She was angry at first at his stopping her kiss but now she realized it only proved him to be a gentleman. He had prevented her great shame – if she had kissed him and he would not return it, it would have been very embarrassing indeed and she could probably never look him in the eyes if he knew of her affection – however insignificant it may be.  
  
“Miss, I- I told him because of his eyes-“  
  
“His eyes?” Margaret scoffed. What did his eyes have to do with anything?  
  
“Miss Margaret – I only thought of the possibilities afterwards and I am glad nothing of the sort happened – I did think you incapable of that (though I do not have such a good knowledge of Mr. Thornton’s character, however much I believe him to admire you), I just wanted to warn you for the future. Truth is, this town is full of gossipers, if the two of you have so much as touched hands when you were alone, the things they could say… It would destroy your reputation and, and… And your mother, what would she think? I could never look her in the eyes, knowing I did not at least warn you.” Dixon stopped for a moment. “I told Mr. Thornton where you are only – and please do not think me too forward in saying so – only because of his eyes, truly. He has strange eyes, miss Margaret, icy blue and stern. And yet, when he spoke of you, they lit up, and I saw such tenderness and perhaps, if I may be so bold, affection… I could not just tell him to go to hell.”  
  
Margaret gasped. What was she trying to say? Margaret has not allowed the thought of Mr. Thornton actually liking her in such a way and she felt nervous and confused.  
  
“Dixon, I… I would ask you to please not tell of this to anyone. Please,” Margaret said after a moment.  
  
“Of course, Miss, not a soul… But, just think about what I said. You are young and I would hate it if you would do something you would regret,” Dixon said.  
  
Margaret shivered as she heard the same words for the second time that day.  
  
“I… I am sorry if I overstepped some sort of line. I believe… I now think that my reaction was rushed – Mr. Thornton truly seems to care for you and I know you would not do such a thing…” Dixon looked at her one more time, before leaving the room and closing the door.  
  
Margaret sat on her bed. How could it be that her whole world could be spun around in such a short time? Margaret closed her eyes, deep in thought. Suddenly, the face of Mr. Thornton appeared in front of her, she recalled his hands on her, his face near her, his voice calling her Margaret…  
  
She quickly opened her eyes and stood up abruptly.  
  
What is happening? She thought to herself – what was this man doing to her?

  
  
  


She sat the rest of the morning with her mother, before dining together with her father. After lunch, Mr. Hale walked to tutor one of his pupils, while Margaret’s mother professed a wish to retire for the afternoon and sleep. Dixon took her to her rooms and then returned to Margaret, who started gathering things into a basket.  
  
“Are you leaving, miss?”  
  
“Only to Princeton, Dixon, I will pay a call on my friend Bessy…” Margaret answered warmly. Though she was angry at Dixon for the assumptions of her impropriety, she understood why she said those things and when Margaret helped her with lunch, Dixon actually confessed to thinking rather highly of Mr. Thornton for comforting Margaret at such a hard time.  
  
Margaret left at half-past three and walked the unusually quiet street in the direction of Princeton. She knocked on the door and Mary, Bessy’s sister opened it and let Margaret in. Bessy greeted her with a smile and Mary disappeared into the back room, leaving the two friends alone.  
  
“I have brought you some fruit, Bessy..” Margaret said, pulling it from the basket  
  
“Thank you, Margaret,” Bessy answered and looked at her.  
  
“So…” Bessy started again.  
  
“So?” Margaret said, pretending to not know what Bessy was alluding to.  
  
“So… Tell me everything! I need to know! I thought you did not like him and then I find you alone, disheveled and him hiding behind a tree! What on Earth have you done to him? Him, the hateful Master, hiding behind a tree of all things like a naughty schoolboy!” Bessy exclaimed so quickly that she went into a fit of cough.  
  
Margaret approached her quickly, she patted her on her back, trying to ease her coughing.  
  
“Damn cough! How am I supposed to intimidate you into giving me all the answers to my nosy questions when I can’t say a sentence without bloody coughing!”  
  
“Now, now, calm down…” Margaret said calmly, though she did not feel calm in the least.  
  
“So?” Bessy looked at her.  
  
Margaret said down next to her, holding her hands together in her lap. “It is not what you think it is, Bessy, not in the least,” she said, pausing, and looking at her friend.  
  
“Oh?” Bessy looked back at her. “I may be sick and fast deceased, but I am still in hold of my senses, thank you very much. And also, I am not blind for that matter!”  
  
Margaret brushed her hair from her face nervously.  
  
“Fine, don’t tell me, if you do not want to. It is better for you to stay silent than lie, that much I understand. I just… I long to know everything, but if you are not ready to say, then fine,” Bessy said after a while.  
  
“No, Bessy. I am afraid, now that I think about it, that there is not actually that much to tell..?”  
  
Bessy looked at her with a puzzled smile. “I highly doubt that,” she said.  
  
So, Margaret told her. She started with the dinner party, telling her friend all about her argument with Mr. Thornton, then told her about their moment outside – her holding his hand, him holding her face. By that point, Margaret was quite red in her face and Bessy’s eyes were getting wider with every word that came out of her friend’s mouth. Margaret only left out the part of her mother’s illness – she did not want to bother a dying person about another close person dying.  
  
When Margaret continued about their meeting that morning and about Mr. Thornton gently embracing her, Margaret could not hide her embarrassment and her friend her astonishment. Margaret then told her that that was when Bessy arrived.  
  
“Oh no! So I had ruined it! Oh, if I had come later, much more could have happened – how stupid of me – now I wish I had left the house an hour later!” her friend exclaimed, a sly smile on her face.  
  
“Well, actually..” Margaret said, before stopping, realizing that she spoke without thinking and now would have to explain herself.  
  
“Actually what? Oh, please tell me something happened after I left!” her friend said, eyes wide.  
  
“Well, I… I thanked him and wanted to walk home, and he kissed my hands-“  
  
“Oooh, how gentlemanly! Who would have guessed HIM of all people like that?” her friend was smiling broadly.  
  
“And then… then I leaned in to kiss-“  
  
“You did not KISS him!!?” her friend squealed with delight, her squeals soon turning into coughs.  
  
“Well, the truth is, I think I wanted to, at that moment at least, but he stopped me…” Margaret said slowly.  
  
“He did what? I do not understand, why on Earth would he not use the opportunity to kiss you, when you were so willing… I thought he cared for you, yet this makes no sense!”  
  
“No, no… I think, I think he did it to protect me,” Margaret said, thinking of his refusal again.  
  
“Protect you? Protect you from what? Getting kissed? Developing feelings?” her friend looked and then stopped. “Wait. Wait a minute. You said that you were distressed, he comforted you and then said no to you kissing him?”  
  
“Pretty much,” Margaret said.  
  
Bessy smiled. “Then he is quite the gentleman,” she proclaimed with a wise smile.  
  
“I know that he is, of course he is. He wanted to prevent me from the shame of being refused by him afterwards, most gentlemanly indeed, I think,” Margaret said, though she could feel her eyes sting. Though his reasons were gentlemanly, Margaret now wished, somewhere deep inside her, that he let her kiss him. She did not know what would have happened then, but she wished to know now.  
  
“No, silly! None of the sort! He is a gentleman for not wanting to use you!” Bessy said.  
  
“Us- use me?” Margaret asked, now utterly confused.  
  
“Do not you understand? He wanted to kiss you but stopped you because you were distressed, and he did not want to take advantage of you! What he meant, though not perfectly explained, was that he did not want to take advantage of you being emotionally vulnerable – he does not know how you feel about him and he wanted you to have a choice to walk away if you had no feelings for him!”  
  
Margaret’s heart stopped – could Bessy be right? Could he fancy her?  
  
“But Bessy, I do not even know how I feel about him!” she stammered.  
  
“Exactly! He knew that kissing him would only make you more confused and all the more likely to refuse him!”  
  
Margaret could not take it anymore. She could not stop thinking about it, she was now very confused indeed. Thankfully, Mary walked in and so they engaged in a more proper conversation and the discussion about Mr. Thornton did not continue further, even more so when Bessy’s father returned home.  
  
Margaret stayed for a little over an hour, but she felt her mind even heavier than before. She walked home, uninterrupted, and alone, though her mind was in total chaos. Deep inside her, she hoped her friend was right, though she did not know why.  
  
At home, Margaret took care of her mother, talking with her and reading all afternoon and evening. After dinner, she retired shortly after her mother. As she lied in bed, she could not stop thinking about him. Of his voice, his thick Northern accent, his hands, his body pressed against hers… and his eyes – so strange, as described by Dixon.  
  
Little did she know, the very eyes, those piercing blue eyes, could not sleep either, their owner tossing and turning, thinking only of her.


	5. Chapter 5

Margaret’s days passed away quickly, her days spent tending to her mother and to Bessy, whose state was getting worse as well. One would have thought that these constant engagements would have left Margaret’s mind quite occupied and unable to think of anything else, yet however much she disagreed with it, she could not stop thinking about Mr. Thornton.  
She had passed Marlborough Mill a few times while on her way to or from Princeton and caught herself wishing to run into it to see him. She tried to brush these feelings and urges aside, quite unsuccessfully. She had seen him, once, when passing through the quiet street near the door, discussing something with his mother but she doubted he had seen her (or at least she hoped so, since, as she realized much later, she had stared at him for quite a while).  
  
With the strike ongoing, one might have thought John’s mind too busy as well – discussing the postponed orders with his suppliers as well as the other mill owners and other business dealings – and yet, he too spent fat too much time thinking about her. He could not stop thinking about the day at the graveyard, their intimacy highly improper and so perfect. John kept thinking about the kiss he rejected and, though he knew he made the right decision in stopping Margaret and even felt a bit proud about it, he wished at least a tiny bit that it would have happened. He was afraid that he did not explain himself well to Margaret afterwards and that she thought (rightfully so, as John remembered his fumbling words to her) that he rejected her because he did not want to kiss her. Funny, John thought, as it was quite the opposite.  
  
Friday afternoon he had been discussing a dispute with one of the suppliers with his mother outside, when all of a sudden, his heart skipped a beat. She was standing there, with a basket in her arms, looking at the mill. It was as if she were examining it. She then looked straight at him, through the door, and for a solid few seconds, John was almost speechless, stumbling through words and trying to sound interested in what his mother was saying. He looked back at Margaret but could only see her skirt disappearing behind the wall. His mother, very, unfortunately, had noticed the entire ‘exchange’ and kept looking at him for the rest of the day with a puzzled face.  
  
He intended to go to Manchester on Sunday – when he thought about it more, he did not wish to skip church service, when it was a perfect chance to see her, if only for a moment. He postponed his trip to Manchester to Monday, carefully not informing his mother until the very day.  
  
On Sunday, Mrs. Hale, accompanied by Margaret from one side and Dixon on the other, with Mr. Hale trailing behind them, entered church precisely five minutes before the start of the service. They sat in their usual seats, the Thorntons all sitting in the opposite part of the church, in the front. Margaret stared at the back of Mr. Thornton, looking at the stiff collar around his neck and the dark hair on his head – for some reason, she found it fascinating to look at light from the windows as well as the candles glimmering through his hair and the whole of service went quite unnoticed by her – she could not have known that the same thing was happening to him. Though he could not see her, he looked back as often as he could as if to ensure that she was still there, and when staring in front of him or singing during the service, his mind was elsewhere.  
  
After the service, Mrs. Hale professed a wish to return home, and so the whole Hale household stood up to walk back to Crampton as soon as possible. The family said hello to some of their acquaintances, including Mrs. And Miss Thornton, as Mr. Thornton was nowhere to be seen.  
  
As they started to walk down the street, footsteps could be heard behind them, and as they turned, they could see Mr. Thornton walking after them quickly. Margaret could not help but blush a little bit, though she could easily hide it while holding her mother next to her – she kept talking to her about some book and tried to ignore the presence of Mr. Thornton.  
  
“Mr. Hale, if you please. Mrs. Hale, Miss Dixon, Miss Hale,” Mr. Thornton greeted them all.  
  
“Ah yes, John. I was wondering where you were – we have said hello to your mother and sister but could not see you and Maria is still not feeling well, so we wanted to return home as soon as possible,” Mr. Hale said.  
  
“Of course, Mr. Hale, I do not mean to keep you. I do hope that Mrs. Hale will be feeling better soon,” Mr. Thornton said, his last words strained. John had only then, as he was saying the words aloud, realized, that he knew of the severity of the illness of Mr. Hale’s wife while Mr. Hale himself did not. It hurt him – he regarded Mr. Hale as his friend more than just a mentor, and to know what was awaiting him in the next few months was very painful.  
  
“Ah, yes, of course – well, it is just a cold, we are not yet used to the dampness here in Milton, are we?” Mr. Hale said with a smile. John could feel a sting in his heart – he knew that the heart of Mr. Hale will be broken, very soon, among with the heart of Margaret and he hated the thought of it.  
  
“I just wanted to make sure that I will be welcome on Tuesday for my lesson,” John said.  
  
“Of course, John, I am looking forward to it,” Mr. Hale answered.  
  
“I was wondering, Mr. Hale, if I might come earlier – let’s say half-past two…? I would really like to hear your opinion on this passage I found in the last book and I thought we could discuss it more…” John said quickly, adding: “ I would pay you for your time, of course.”  
  
“Oh, nonsense, John, nonsense! Of course you can come earlier, I would love to discuss the themes and the passage with you more thoroughly – perhaps Margaret will join us, if you do not mind it,” Mr. Hale said, smiling.  
  
“I do not mind it, at all,” John said, rather too quickly. Though Mr. Hale did not seem to notice the hurriedness of his answer and neither did Mrs. Hale, Margaret blushed quite fiercely, and he could see and Dixon cast a knowing look at him, smirking and nodding her head. John thought he could almost hear Dixon whispering “Of course you don’t,”.  
  
“Great, John. Well, if you will come so early, why not come for luncheon as well? We dine at one, you would be most welcome!” Mr. Hale smiled again. John’s heart leapt; this offer sounded even better to him than anything he might have imagined in his dreams. Margaret’s heart leapt as well, though perhaps for a slightly different reason – she felt nervous already and was worried about the unpleasantness of such a visit – her sitting next to or opposite Mr. Thornton after the last encounter…  
  
The Hales bid him goodbye and John returned to his mother and sister. His sister was deep in conversation with Mr. Watson, another mill owner that John knew. His mother was standing near, quietly, watching everything like a hawk. When he came near her, she looked at him.  
  
“You spend quite a lot of time with those Hales,” she said after a moment.  
  
“Indeed, Mr. Hale is my good friend,” John answered, worried about what turn this conversation might take – his mother never said anything just like that and he was nervous that that was happening now as well.  
  
“Not just Mr. Hale though,” she said calmly and looked him directly in the eyes.  
  
“What are you insinuating, mother?”  
  
“Nothing, John. Absolutely nothing,” she said quietly and walked off to talk with Mrs. Slickson.

  
  


  


Monday dragged on and on. John’s trip to Manchester was quite unsatisfactory and he felt miserable for having to go all the way there for an unsuccessful day. He had two hours before his train was to depart back to Milton, so he strolled through the streets of Manchester, looking at buildings and watching people fuss over things. He looked into windows, watched people discuss which ribbon to buy or which color suits them best. One window caught his eye – he looked into it, one of the goods was exceptional and he knew he had to buy it, or at least look at it. Though it was not cheap (and the strike was still ongoing leaving John’s ), and he had no idea if he would actually need it or not, he stepped into Richards & Decker Jewelry, bowing his head to the people inside and wondering what in God’s name was happening to him.  
  
Margaret read to her mother all morning, then helped Dixon cook luncheon and ate with her family. In the afternoon she visited Princeton, but Bessy was sleeping and she did not want to listen to any more union talk from Nicholas Higgins, so she left much earlier than she had meant to. She tried to get through a book she had started reading at the recommendation of Edith but could not even get through the first chapter without her eyes closing.  
  
As she sat in the study, she realized what she must read again. She jumped up and took her father’s Plato, reading with a studious urge to remember as much as she could.  
  
  
Tuesday morning was met with chaos at the Hale household as Dixon had a terrible headache and snapped at everyone, making it nearly impossible to work with her in the kitchen. Margaret helped as much as she could but could not take it for very long. At twelve of clock, as Dixon was finishing the final touches of the luncheon, Margaret wanted to lie down. She went upstairs and sat on her bed, leaning her head against one of the pillars of it. She closed her eyes for a second when-  
  
“Miss Margaret, whatever are you doing? Why are you not getting ready?” Dixon’s voice echoed through her room.  
  
“Getting ready – ready for what?” Margaret asked.  
  
“Well for the luncheon, Miss. And,” Dixon paused with a meaningful glance, “ for Mr. Thornton, of course!”  
  
Margaret sighed as she rubbed her eyes. Of course she knew Mr. Thornton was coming but tried to pretend like she did not care. Margaret was trying to pretend like his voice did not make her shiver, or his face did not make her knees weak – these were hardly proper things to feel, she knew. And yet, she could not stop feeling them.  
  
“We must hurry, miss! I will make your hair and perhaps, we should make your corset a bit tighter, well?” Dixon continued.  
  
“Fine, Dixon, fix my hair. Though I am not doing anything with my corset anymore – if we make it any tighter, I feel like I might burst from the pressure of it,” Margaret said.  
  
Dixon stood behind her as she started to make her hair. Just as she was finishing, there was a doorbell and Dixon rushed out of the room to open the door. Margaret shook her head with a small laugh and walked out after her, closing the door behind her. She was walking down the stairs as she could see Mr. Thornton being greeted by Mr. Hale.  
  
“Miss Hale,” he said, his voice unusually raspy.  
  
“Mr. Thornton,” Margaret said back, trying her best to not blush.  
  
They sat down for lunch, along with Mrs. Thornton, and ate and discussed many things – from the strike to the less hard topics of farming or society. After quite a long lunch, Mrs. Hale retired back to her room and the three of them moved to the study. Dixon brought them a tray with tea and left it there for Margaret to pour. She did, her hands shivering uncontrollably when she handed the teacup to Mr. Thornton as their hands and eyes met, both of their hearts fluttering uncontrollably as well.  
  
Mr. Hale seemed not to notice the strange tension between his pupil and his daughter, going on and on about a specific passage from Plato. Mr. Thornton always nodded and sometimes added points in a low voice. Thankfully, not only due to the quality education she received from her father but also her refreshed knowledge of Plato, Margaret could sometimes add something to the conversations, sometimes challenging Mr. Thornton in his opinion, but more often agreeing with him on another one.  
  
The afternoon and evening passed with friendliness, laughter, and clever discussions. As Mr. Hale started to doze off in his chair, Margaret knew it was time. She brushed her hand on his shoulder to wake him.  
  
“Oh, oh, Margaret, yes, sorry. John, I think we should leave it here for next time, what do you think? It was most wonderful to have you here like this, please do come again. It warms my heart to hear young people with opinions speak, and you make some excellent points John. Margaret, will you send for Dixon and show John out?”  
  
Margaret went to ring the bell for Dixon, as Mr. Thornton thanked for the hospitability and also professed a wish to repeat this form of lecture, sometime again. Dixon came and opened the door to Mr. Thornton. He walked down the stairs, followed by Margaret and Dixon. Downstairs, Dixon handed him his coat and hat. As he started to put it on, Dixon suspiciously went into the parlor, excusing herself to find a key. Before she went into the other room, Margaret almost thought she could have seen her making glances at Mr. Thornton, almost winking, before she exited the room.  
  
John opened the door.  
  
“Well, goodbye, Mr. Thornton. It.. It has been a most enjoyable afternoon. You must come again,” Margaret said.  
  
“Goodbye, Miss Hale. I also wish to repeat it, as soon as possible,” he said, looking deeply into her eyes and shaking her hand in his. She realized the door was open, so she cleared her throat as they were shaking hands far too long. John took his cue and exited the door, slowly walking down the stairs. Margaret closed the door behind him, leaning her head on it afterwards. Why didn’t she say anything to him? She had hoped to clear everything up, yet she could not, she did not, and why? Why was she so nervous?  
  
John stood on the last stair out in the quiet street. Only one person was now there, near a house three houses down the block and he was not paying attention at all. Before John could ponder anything that was going inside his mind, he felt his feet move back to the house, knocking quickly, yet quietly on the door.  
  
It sprung open almost immediately, showing Margaret behind them. John stepped in and closed the door quickly. He felt as if in a dream, yet he held her face in his hands and leaned down, his lips meeting hers. It was not a long kiss, yet he needed to tell her by this that he did not wish to reject her – he hoped to make all of it clear. He leaned back and looked at her, this goddess that rendered him speechless just by walking down the stairs or handing him a teacup.  
  
“I- I am so-“ he started.  
  
Before he could continue, Margaret stood on her tiptoes and leaned towards his face, bringing her lips to his. He took her face back into his hands, caressing her cheek as she put her hands into his hair. Their lips were soft on each other, his hands moving from her face to the small of her back, pulling her scandalously close. She could feel butterflies in her stomach, as one of her hands settled on his neck. He could feel the same, pulling her forward urgently, yet so gently.  
  
Their lips were battling together as they stood close, in the darker corner of the entrance hall. Margaret could hear him moan into her lips, a quiet and almost unbelievably beautiful sound that resonated through her as she tried to pull him even closer, her hands making a mess of his hair.  
  
As they ran out of breath, they pulled apart after what were probably minutes, though neither of them knew for sure. He leaned more towards her, resting his forehead on hers, not letting his hands away from her back. She had her hands around his neck now, caressing his skin there.  
  
“I- I-“ he started, realizing he had no idea what he wanted to say.  
Margaret put a finger on his lips and looked deeply into his eyes. He could not take it – she was so beautiful, and he knew he could never get enough of this.  
  
He leaned back in and pressed his lips on hers again, caressing the small of her back, pulling her as close as he could.  
  
As Dixon heard the door closing, she wondered that they were so quick. She guessed after the last few days that Margaret needed to speak to Mr. Thornton alone and Dixon wanted her to be able to do that, so she gave them a moment - from what she understood, they had a lot to talk about.  
  
She slowly opened the door into the hall again, expecting to see Miss Margaret. And indeed, there she was – however, Dixon’s eyes were quite full of shock – Miss Margaret was embracing Mr. Thornton, their lips battling together, his hands on her back, her hands in his hair.  
  
Dixon thought of her options. She knew what she should do but she also knew what she wanted to do. Dixon slowly pushed the door back, closing it softly. She went back to her room, muttering under her breath – and yet, she could not keep from smiling broadly.


	6. Chapter 6

“Margaret,” he whispered into her lips as they leaned from each other, looking into her eyes. Margaret’s heartbeat was so quick she felt he had to hear it. She gazed into the blue eyes of this man, quite in a trance after what had just transpired between them – there was something utterly scandalous about it and she could not help but enjoy the sensation.  
  
“Margaret, I- I do not know what has come over me, I am so sorry-“ he started to say, and Margaret could see his cheeks getting redder with every word.  
  
She held his hand and heard herself speak. “Do not apologize, please, I- I do not know as well,” she chuckled, suddenly realizing that they were, though inside a house, in a relatively public space. He smiled at her, a shy smile. Margaret would have never guessed him to be shy in any situation, and yet now he seemed to be – she found it quite adorable, for this dark and stern man to be shy because of her. The clock in the other room struck seven and John jumped at the sound of it, cursing under his breath.  
  
“Oh God, is that the time? I must- I am sorry, but I must go, we are to dine with the Slicksons tonight, Mother had invited them on Sunday…” he said, looking around. Margaret nodded.  
  
“Of course, you must go, I am sorry to have taken up your time, John- Mr. Thornton,” she said quickly, blushing fiercely.  
  
He brought his hand to her cheek. Margaret could feel her heart skip a beat, yet again. “Please, call me John if it please you, at least when we-,” he paused, swallowing as if pondering his next words. “At least when we are alone, Margaret.”  
  
“Do you believe that that will happen often, Mr. Thornton?” she asked teasingly.  
  
“John, please. And… I must say that I rather hoped it could happen more often, Margaret. I… I like you, Margaret, indeed I do, much more than you might realize,” he said – quite an understatement, he thought, but he did not want to scare her by professing his true feelings. Margaret blushed and smiled but could not bring herself to say anything, she was too shocked at his confession – after the incident at the graveyard, she was determined he did not care for her, though afterwards, she had thought about it more. She admitted to herself then that Mr. Thornton might indeed like her, but from what she heard from him now, it seemed that he had liked her far longer and far deeper than she could have ever imagined.  
  
“I thought, just maybe, if you would give me a chance, I thought maybe I could ask your fath-“  
  
“Margaret, has John gone?” Mr. Hale’s voice could be heard above, followed by slow footsteps. Margaret jumped up and looked at the door. John took his cue and opened it, looking at her once more before closing the door and walking into the street.  
  
It was not until then that he looked back at the house, eyes wide, just now realizing what had happened. I kissed her!, he thought, wondering what on earth had possessed him to do such an improper thing, though it was true that he always acted impulsively when he was around her. And, he thought, she kissed him! John could still not quite believe it, replaying it in his mind over and over, now wishing that Mr. Hale had stayed upstairs longer, so they could talk and maybe also not talk. He had longed to ask her if she would court him, but Mr. Hale’s sudden appearance had destroyed the moment. As John walked home, he realized that though he might have wanted to ask her to court him, there was a different question he wished to ask her – though he knew he had to wait and give Margaret some time. He knew she was the person for him. He loved her, he knew, and he wanted to spend rest of his whole life with her. As he walked home, he clutched the small box he had in his pocket, wondering if and when he might open it before her.  
  
Margaret closed the door in a hurry, just in time – her father had just walked into the hall. She smiled at him, trying to look as calm as possible. She could still see John through the window – he was now looking back at the house, and he seemed quite in shock. Margaret urged him in her mind to leave as quickly as he could since she knew her father would have noticed him.  
“Yes, father, Mr. Thornton has gone,” she said, her voice unusually trembling. She looked at the corner of the hall, where she, not even five minutes previously, had been standing with him, their bodies close, her hands in his hair, their lips on each other-  
  
“Oh, what a shame,” her father said, “he had forgotten his book.”  
  
What a shame indeed, Margaret thought, though she tried to get these thoughts out of her mind.  
  
“Well, no matter, he can take it when he comes next time, or we could send Dixon with it later,” he said.  
  
“Indeed, father. Or I can bring it to him next time I go to see Bessy. Bring it to their house I mean,” she said.  
  
“Would you?” her father looked at her surprised. “You know, Margaret, he really is not as terrible as you think. I think you are a bit too harsh on him, sometimes. It is not his fault after all, that we have come up here. It is only mine…” he said, muttering his last words and sighing.  
  
“I do know it is not his fault. And it is not yours either, Father, do not blame yourself for anything. After all, do you not like teaching?” Margaret said. She felt a sting for lying to him – they both knew that it was his fault that they have come to the North. However, Margaret could not blame him – he had a calling that called him here and she knew that he had to leave. She was only sad because of her mother. Margaret knew her mother, if she could choose, would like to die in Helstone – surrounded by her husband, Margaret, and Frederick… Oh, Frederick, Margaret thought. If only he were here, he would have known what to do. An idea started to form in her head – what if Frederick could be here?  
  
Her father smiled at her. “It is true, I do like it, Margaret. Especially with some of the pupils, like John, for instance,” he said.  
  
“I know. It is important that you are happy as well, Father, do not forget that. And… I will try to be nicer to Mr. Thornton,” she said, blushing slightly at her last words – had not she been a tad nicer to him just a few minutes previously? She thought about him again, standing there with her… She had to do something, occupy her mind with thoughts of other things – like the idea that she had in her mind at that moment – she knew it would help her mother.  
  
“I need to go and write some letters, Father. I will see you for dinner at eight,” Margaret said, running up the stairs to her room and closing the door. She leaned against the closed door.  
“What a day!” she exclaimed to herself. “What a day indeed,” she whispered.  
  
She sat down to her desk, pulled a list of paper from one of the drawers. She started writing, words coming to paper before she could even think of them. She wrote quickly – she wanted to post it immediately in order to make the evening post.  
  
Margaret snuck out of her room with the envelope, walking down the stairs, taking her coat, and stepped outside into the cold evening air. It was dark already, the streets almost empty. She started walking to the nearest mailbox, walking briskly.  
  
When she approached it, she looked at the envelope again, as if thinking it over. She shrugged and put it inside the mailbox resolutely. Instantly, she felt as if she had done wrong, but she did not try to retrieve it – she knew she could not. Not only because of the very small hole in the mailbox but, more importantly, because of her mother.  
  
She prayed to God she had done the right thing.  
  
That night she went to bed completely exhausted but could not sleep. Her mind was full of the day’s events. Her very rash decision to write that letter, that letter that she hoped would not destroy one of the people most close to her. And even when she stopped thinking about the letter, she could almost feel Mr. Thornton’s lips on hers and she wished to go back and relive it all again. She realized, that even if she could relive the day, she would not change a thing – there would be no alternative timeline, Margaret thought to herself, in which she would have pushed Mr. Thornton away. The mere thought of him brought butterflies to her stomach – no one has ever made her feel like that before and it made her nervous, happy, and shocked all at once. She was looking forward to seeing him again, whenever that would be, even though she had no idea what she would say to him. What does one say to a person after an encounter such as this? Margaret thought.  
  
As she laid in bed pondering over everything and reliving every moment, a mailman for the evening post started to empty the mailboxes of Milton. Among the many envelopes that people have put into them, one was written in blue ink and a very elegant hand. The envelope carried many things, good and bad, most of them unforeseen to Margaret or John – it read:  
  
_Mr. Frederick Hale  
Calle Aguila, 45  
Cadiz  
Spain_

_  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter - I decided to split it into two parts, since the original Chapter 6 was very long - Chapter 7 will be quite eventful, this one was more about inner turmoil and feelings... Thank you for reading! :)


	7. Chapter 7

Margaret spent her Wednesday concentrating on her mother. She read to her after breakfast and when Mr. Hale left, they did their needlework together in the parlor. After an early luncheon with her father absent (he had excused himself previously for dining with one of his pupils), Margaret meant to visit Bessy. Her mother usually retired early after lunch, but that day, she did not want to, so Margaret stayed inside and talked with her for most of the afternoon.  
  
Dixon kept glancing at her and it made Margaret very self-conscious – Margaret knew that Dixon must have known – or worse, heard or seen – something and Margaret was very afraid of what it might have been. On Wednesday evening, Dixon stopped in her bedroom and handed her a book.  
  
“Mr. Hale had told me that you have spared me of my duty and will take this to Marlborough Mill, miss,” she said with a hint in her voice and her face as well.  
  
Margaret looked at her, not quite sure what to answer. “Unless you want to go yourself, Dixon. I mean to visit my friend in Princeton tomorrow and I can stop by Marlborough Mills and leave it in their house, but if you would rather go, I have no objection,” she said finally, careful to sound as disinterested as if she were discussing the weather, though her heart was beating fast. Truth was, she had rather not thought about the book. Though a part of her longed to see him, the other part wished to crawl into a hole and never come out again. It was only that day that Margaret had thought more practically, rather than emotionally. She feared she had appeared very wanton and she was afraid that, if Mr. Thornton will have enough time to think about it, he would think her so as well and she hated the mere thought of it. She did not know why she felt this way, not truly anyway – but she wished he would think highly of her whatever the matter. It felt strange – normally Margaret never cared about what most people thought, but with him… She did not want to disappoint him, not now, when she had found out from his very words and actions that he cared for her.  
  
“But I do, miss. I do not wish to go – my knees are not what they used to be and I need to take care of your mother… Also, you know that Mr. Hale has a pupil coming over for luncheon at one so I will have to cook… No, miss, it is better – all-around better if you know what I mean – if you go,” Dixon finished excusing herself in a desperate tone.  
  
“Fine, Dixon, I will go,” Margaret said. “Which pupil will come for luncheon? It is just… I did not know it would become a regular thing for everyone…”  
  
“I am not quite sure, I believe your father spoke of a Mr. Colls or something like that… It won’t be who you think or wish, unfortunately,” Dixon finished in a quiet voice – Margaret even thought she could see her winking.  
  
Margaret cleared her throat and bid her goodnight without another word. Before she went to sleep, she noticed the book lying on her desk and it only reminded her of her task the next day. She fell asleep almost immediately.

  
  
\-----------------------------------------------------

Thursday came with slight rain – quite the usual situation in Milton. Margaret was helped into a corset by Dixon, took her basket with food and the book, and took off in the direction of Marlborough Mills. As she walked through the streets, she walked by a mailman and thought of the letter, probably already on its way to Cadiz… She both hoped and at the same time did not hope that he would come – hoped for her mother (and selfishly for herself as well) and did not hope for Frederick. If he were caught, she knew, he would be hanged, and it would all be Margaret’s fault.  
  
Margaret was deep in thought, as there was another voice in the street calling after her.  
  
“Miss Hale!” he called, though he wished he could call her by her name. Oh, how he wished for that.  
  
John was on his way to post letters when he saw her, clutching a basket and walking briskly somewhere – she seemed absent to him and he thought her as beautiful as the first time he had seen her.  
  
He made his way over to her and called at her again. “Miss Hale!”  
  
Margaret turned around, eyes wide. She looked at him, standing there, in his top hat and black cravat, towering over her in the slight rain. It seemed to her as if from one of those “horrid” (or at least so perceived by the society) novels she had sometimes read when she was younger under the sheets – where the hero embraced the heroine in the rain in a dark forest... She felt a sudden urge to embrace him again in a way that was quite improper for a lady and especially in the street. Instead, she stretched her hand out to shake his.  
  
“Mr. Thornton,” she said, doing her best to stay calm as he took her hand in his and shook it. Even this very usual and quick handshake sent a shiver down her spine and when she looked into his blue eyes, she could feel, yet again, butterflies in her stomach.  
¨  
“Where are you going?” he asked, looking into her eyes while taking his hand back from the handshake.  
  
“I- I am going to- well, actually, I am going to Marlborough Mills,” she said.  
  
“Really?” he asked with a surprised glance.  
  
“Well, more specifically, I am coming to see you-“ she started, only then realizing how it sounded as she tried to look for better words to express herself.  
  
“Really?” he asked again, with a hint of surprise in his voice, though well covered. Margaret realized that if they had not spent these special moments together, she would not have heard the surprise in his voice. His voice was much more nuanced than the severe North accent with no emotion that she had thought it a few months – weeks, even – previously. She now realized that his voice was often full of emotions, but she had only started to discover them now. It was as if she learned something new about him every day – two weeks ago she would have never thought to call him gentle or – Margaret smiled to herself – adorable and yet now she found herself thinking exactly that.  
  
“What I meant, Mr. Thornton, was that I have your book and I meant to bring it to you,” she said, alluding to her basket. “Well, I guess I can give it to you now when we met here-“  
  
“Oh, Miss Hale, I think it would rain on it and that it would do it no good,” he said hurriedly, his eyes smiling at her, though his face remained unchanged to a regular onlooker. He offered her his hand. “I will walk you to Marlborough Mills and then take the book carefully so it does not rain on it,” he added.  
  
She took his hand, smiling at him. “Mr. Thornton, indeed. We must be very careful about the book – is it a limited edition?”  
“Of course, Miss Hale!” he chuckled, looking at her teasingly. She clutched his hand a bit more, just enough for him to know and little enough for no one else to notice.  
  
They walked a few meters in silence. “It’s quite funny,” John said all of a sudden.  
  
Margaret looked at him, confused. “What is?”  
  
“Well, when I went to look for you, the day after the dinner party, I came very early because I could not sleep and Dixon opened and I panicked and said that I came to return a book. The funny thing was that I did not bring one with me, so I had to change my excuse. I said that I meant to borrow a book from you and if she could wake you,” John said, recollecting his encounter with the very sleepy Dixon.  
  
“That is quite funny. Dixon mentioned you stopped by – she… she actually thought that you, Mr. Thornton, and I… well that… well that, ehm. That you wanted to find me for a different reason than you claimed,” she said, blushing fiercely and not knowing why she was even telling him.  
  
He looked at her in shock, then laughed out louder than she had ever seen him. A man was walking past them and he looked in shock at the mill Master laughing.  
  
“No! That is… That is impossible! I am sorry, Marg- Miss Hale, oh how gossip spreads… You know, I hope, that I would never do such a thing?” he said after a while when he caught his breath. He did not know why, but the image of Dixon fidgeting around at home and thinking something of the sort that Margaret was insinuating was hilarious to him – as if he ever would!  
  
“Of course I know,” Margaret said immediately. They had reached the mill door. She could see Fanny, walking from one door to a different one.  
  
John opened the gate to the Mill, but Margaret stopped. John looked at her, questions in his eyes.  
  
“I thought you wanted to bring the book?” he asked.  
  
“I mean, yes I do, but maybe I should just give it to you here – if someone were to see me being with you there alone, I mean…” she started.  
  
“Miss Hale, Williams is there, and Fanny, and my mother and the servants. If you do not wish to come in, then let us take the book to the Mill, to my office."  
  
Margaret nodded and he opened the gate. She looked around and realized that she was probably worried about nothing – there was hardly a soul in the street.  
  
They walked towards the mill door. Margaret thought she could feel eyes on her, but she nudged that feeling away.  
  
As they walked inside, John looked at her.  
  
“Margaret, I can see you have got questions,” he said.  
  
“I- I do, but I have so many…”  
  
“Well, then let’s get to them,” he said, his voice getting lower.  
  
Margaret swallowed and then started, all of a sudden – words just came out of her and there was no stopping them.  
  
“I am so confused, Mr. Thorn- John. I- Two weeks ago I thought I hated you and now, now I even- I kissed you and I have no idea why I did so. I do not know why I let you kiss me, or why I wanted to kiss you in the graveyard – I do not know why you went looking for me that day, I do not know what exactly happened between us at the dinner party… I, I have had explained to me why you rejected me, but I still do not understand and most importantly- I… well, I just do not understand myself. Usually, I could understand my motivation for my actions or my words but I have no idea what is happening to me…” she spitted it out, those feelings that she has been feeling for some time.  
  
John looked at her, surprised – he knew she was thinking about everything, but he never imagined her to think so deeply about their acquaintance. They were in one of the hallways of the mill now, cotton lying around them like a layer of fresh snow. He took her hand, and she shivered but did not take her hand away.  
  
“Margaret, I.. I cannot explain to you what you are feeling. I can only- I can only tell you what I know. I… I am a very in control person, Margaret and I have always been that way,” John said slowly. “But, since you have come into my life, I have done things impulsively, spoke when I did not mean to, said words that I could not control – it has been quite an unusual experience to me. I- I have told you already, Margaret, that I like you, and I truly do, I like you very much and I only hope that you could like me as much as I like you. At the dinner party, I do not know what to tell you – you ignited something in me and even though we did not agree, I wished to know more about your side. I acted impulsively and wanted to see you and that is why I came looking for you that day,” he continued, his voice trembling, but his words were clear. His eyes were so light and so full of emotion, Margaret thought she could drown in them.  
  
“I only rejected your, well, your advance, because you were emotional and vulnerable, and I was simply afraid that you would only regret it later and despise me for using you.. And I kissed you at your house because – Margaret, I just wanted to let you know at that moment why I did all of it,” he finished, quite in shock at the words that came out of him.  
  
Margaret stood there, not saying a word. John was afraid that he had angered her.  
  
“Margaret, if-,” his voice broke. “If you wish us to forego Tuesday evening and everything that has trespassed, I… I will do it, or at least attempt it for I fear I will never forget, but I will try it for you,” he said, a sting in his heart – it was as he feared – she did not want to go there because she wanted to forget all of it.  
  
Margaret clutched his hand – she could see the pain in his face, and it hurt her to see him in pain. “John, I… I did what I did for a reason. I do not yet know what that reason was, but I can only tell you that I kept replaying every moment of it ever since. I have never been kissed before, you know. I think… I think the time for forgetting has gone. Truth is, I am even more impulsive than ever when I am around you,” she said slowly.  
  
His heart skipped a beat – it was not exactly a confession as he might have hoped for in his dreams, but it was much more than he had expected at that moment. He also felt warmth in his heart when he heard her confess that he had been the first to kiss her – it made him feel foolishly proud.  
  
“Margaret, I- Truth is, I have never kissed anyone before either – I never felt the need, before now – before I met you,” he said truthfully.  
She smiled, her heart fluttering. He looked down at her, their eyes not leaving each other, their hands joined. Margaret stood on her tiptoes as he lowered his head and met her lips hungrily. Her basket dropped from her hands to the ground with a silent thud as she brought her hands to his hair.  
  
He brought his hands to her face, caressing her cheeks as he pushed her the few centimeters to the wall. She moaned quietly into his lips as she softly hit the wall, a sound that brought a shiver down his spine. He thought his chest would burst when she moaned quietly again into his mouth and opened hers, their tongues meeting in a battle neither of them could win or lose. Her legs were trembling, shaking almost, and if he were not pushed against her so closely against the wall, she would have fallen. Her hand stopped at his neck, pulling him close to her, her mind completely blank.  
  
“John!” a voice called from the door of the mill. They both jumped up in shock, letting go of each other, John stepping away from her quickly, cursing his mother. The door opened and Mrs. Thornton entered. Margaret hoped she could not see her face clearly since she felt one look would have said everything. She took the book from the basket that she had completely forgotten about from the floor and handed it to John. She took her basket.  
  
“Well, here you go, Mr. Thornton, your book,” she said haughtily, or at least trying to sound like that – as disinterested as she could. She handed him the book without looking at him and then looked at his mother coming nearer.  
  
“Thank you, Miss Hale. Send my apologies to your father for the inconvenience,” he said, clearing his throat. “And, Miss Hale, I would recommend you not going to Princeton in the next few days, I am afraid that we are reaching the worst point of the strike,” he added, trying to sound normal, but there was a hint of emergency in his voice that Margaret could hear clearly.  
  
“Miss Hale, how unexpected,” Mrs. Thornton said, her voice cool when she came near them.  
  
“I have come to return Mr. Thornton’s book, Mrs. Thornton. How nice to see you,” Margaret said, her mind as in a trance.  
  
“I see, indeed,” Mrs. Thornton said, eyeing her carefully. Margaret felt very uncomfortable under her gaze – she felt that Mrs. Thornton could see right through her.  
  
“I must go, Mrs. Thornton, I am expected home,” Margaret said.  
  
“Of course, Miss Hale. Send our best wishes to your parents,” Mrs. Thornton said and Margaret could feel her feet moving towards the door, feeling their eyes on her back as she went out of the door and closed it behind her, clutching her basket.  
  
As the door thudded, John clutched the book in his hand. “I need to go, I have a meeting soon and I need to prepare, Mother,” he said, turning around towards his office and walked away from her, he did not want to explain anything to her.  
  
“John, what-“ his mother started.  
  
“Not now, sorry, Mother. I must go,” John said, opening the door to his office and closing it behind him. He leaned against it, deep in thought. He had promised himself he would not do anything again until he knew if it actually was what Margaret wanted – he did not want to embarrass her or ruin her reputation. He could have slapped himself – what was he thinking? Kissing her like that in the hallway of the mill where anyone could have walked in. He heard Williams scuffle in the other room which only enforced his regret – if he had seen them, the whole of Milton would have known by tomorrow morning. There would be pressure on Margaret to marry him then and John knew she hated to be pressured into things – sooner or later, whatever her feelings for him now, she would have started to hate him. John could not risk that – not now when there was hope.  
  
He walked to his desk. He did indeed have a meeting that day – he would not have lied like that to his mother – but it was in three hours and he had plenty of time. He started to work on some letters and numbers, but could feel his mind wandering towards a certain brunette – he now only wondered – would they ever not be interrupted?  
  
As John closed the door to his office, Hannah Thornton shook her head. She had started to suspect a few weeks previously that John was sweet on Margaret, but in the last couple of days, she wondered if it were a much deeper attachment than she could have known. She was no fool – she could see the way he looked at her, his need to visit Mr. Hale more often, and now finding them alone in the mill... Hannah was happy she had come in time – she believed her son to be incapable of doing anything improper but knew the power of gossip. The last thing the Thorntons need, she thought, are filthy rumor during the strike.

  
  
  


Margaret walked into Princeton, deep in thought, wondering what on Earth had happened to her – yet again, she thought. Even though John had warned her about going to Princeton, she decided to go anyway, at least that day – she already had things for Bessy, and she promised her she would visit.  
  
Her visit, however, was very short – Bessy was asleep, so Margaret left the things from her basket for her there and walked back home. She was, she admitted to herself, glad her friend was asleep – Margaret did not feel like talking and she knew Bessy would ask about Mr. Thornton. What would she say to her? That they have shared two absolutely scandalous kisses and whenever she thought of him, she felt butterflies in her stomach and her legs turn to jelly? Oh no, that would not do, Margaret thought.  
  
She arrived home just in time to change for luncheon. She walked down into the dining room when she noticed a young man sitting next to her father who sat in the head of the table, in deep conversation. Her mother was seated next to her father from the other side and so Margaret was left with no other choice than to sit next to the mysterious man.  
  
He had blonde hair, was about the age of John, Margaret thought, and had lively eyes. He was classically handsome, Margaret had to admit. As she sat down next to this man, she realized with a shock that, deep inside her, she did not find him as handsome as she might have done a year ago – her taste quite altered. Margaret smiled to herself – if only he had a strong jaw, dark hair, blue eyes… Margaret cleared her throat in order to clear her mind of such thoughts and greeted everyone, leaving the man for the last so she could find out, as society dictated, his name and be introduced to him.  
“Ah, of course, Margaret. Margaret, this is one of my pupils, Mr. William Colls. William, this is my daughter, Margaret,” Mr. Hale made the introduction. Margaret remembered now that Dixon had told her of the luncheon with one of the pupils – her mind had been quite preoccupied with other things – and people, Margaret thought almost blushing – that she had totally forgotten of the man coming.  
  
“Miss Hale, it is wonderful to meet you, finally,” Mr. Colls said.  
  
“Likewise, Mr. Colls,” she shook his hand hastily and smiled at him, a small smile. Dixon had come with the soup and so they dined together, her father resuming the conversation with Mr. Colls. Unlike on the last luncheon on Tuesday, when Margaret had wanted to join the discussion, she only made small points sometimes when she was asked, but never herself – her mind wandered elsewhere.  
Mr. Colls, she realized, had been looking at her for quite a large portion of the time, and it made Margaret severely uncomfortable. After lunch, Dixon took her mother upstairs and Margaret made her excuse in order to leave.  
  
“Oh, Margaret, do not go – stay with us. I like it when young people talk and last time you had stayed,” her father said.  
  
“I know, father, but I am afraid that I am too tired to be of any use in any discussion today,” Margaret said. She did not want to stay in the least but was afraid that she would be left no choice – she loved her father and wanted to make him happy. Her father, however, seemed resigned to leave her alone, when all of a sudden Mr. Colls spoke.  
  
“Oh, do stay, Miss Hale. I think it will be an interesting lesson and we will enjoy ourselves. Besides, if you leave now, I will think you favor one of your father’s students more than us others,” he said.  
  
“Oh, Mr. Colls, you do not need to worry about that, is not that so Margaret? Margaret and Mr. Thornton are not very fond of each other, are they?” her father said.  
  
“Indeed, Father, but I think we have gotten used to each other now,” Margaret said without thinking, trying her hardest not to blush.  
  
“Thornton? John Thornton is one of your pupils as well, Mr. Hale?” Mr. Colls said, evidently surprised.  
  
“Indeed, he is my pupil too. Do you know him?” Mr. Hale asked.  
  
“Aye, I do. We went to school together, at least for a short time,” Mr. Colls said, then lowered his voice. “He had to leave after the whole… _incident_ with his father,” he said, emphasizing the word incident.  
  
“Oh, what a coincidence! Oh, Margaret, do sit down,” her father said. Margaret sat down, quite reluctantly – at that moment, she wanted nothing more than to disappear into her room.  
  
“Of course, we knew each other only for a while and not very well… He always had his mind for numbers and well, how to put it, women… and I knew my vocation to be a lawyer, so… And there was the matter of his father and the family..We did not have a lot in common,” Mr. Colls said, looking at Margaret when speaking of his work as if to emphasize that he indeed was a lawyer – a well looked on position in the society. Mr. Hale seemed to not listen to him, clearly looking for a specific passage in the boom he was holding.  
  
Mr. Colls’ words angered Margaret – to act so haughtily when he knew that John’s father had killed himself – how could he be so unfeeling? And at the mention of women, Margaret’s blood ran cold, John had just admitted to her that day that she was the first woman he had ever kissed and she believed him. Even though it was known that men had “their needs” and it was even somehow accepted in the society (though not talked about) when men took mistresses, Margaret could not believe John to be capable of such a thing – no, she knew he was not – she believed John. She rose to her feet, suddenly dizzy.  
  
“Yes, quite. Well, shall we start?” her father said.  
  
“I am sorry, father, but I must leave, I truly do have a headache,” she said quickly, glaring at Mr. Colls with anger. She turned around and walked up the stairs without another word, going into her bedroom and sitting on her bed. She knew it was not proper to act like that towards a guest, but she did not care. It was only then that she realized the meaning of John’s words – he had only kissed her! She felt a sense of pride inside her – to be the only woman that this severe and sought after by every woman bachelor and mill owner had ever kissed left a smile on her face. Whatever Mr. Colls said about, she knew, must be wrong – he was not to be trusted.  
  
It was evening when Dixon came to her room with a note, that Mr. Colls had apparently left behind for her.  
  
_Dear Miss Hale,  
I am sorry that you could not have joined us today. I do hope we see more of each other in the days to come and that you will join us next time.  
William Colls  
_  
Margaret shrugged. She did not like the phrase “see more of each other” and was afraid of what he might be insinuating – she did not like the way he spoke, she thought him proud and very confident in himself about everything. She never wanted to have anything to do with the man.  
  
She went to bed that night without dinner, thinking of the mill, John’s hands on her, their lips crashing together, and their tongues battling. She knew now that she was attached to him, very much indeed – perhaps, she thought, more than she realized. How was she to recognize love when she had never felt it before? 


	8. Chapter 8

The rain continued on Friday and most of Saturday. On Friday, Margaret sat with her father in the evening, after they had left her Mother in her bed to rest.  
  
“You… You have written to Frederick?” her father said suddenly.  
  
Margaret closed her eyes – she knew this day would come but hoped it would come later. “Yes, Father, I have. Though I do not know whether I have made the right decision,” Margaret said in a small voice.  
  
“And you have because… Because you think there is not much time left, correct?” Mr. Hale said, the pain in his voice quite obvious to Margaret.  
  
Margaret nodded, tears in her eyes. No, she said to herself, I must be strong – not only for me and Mother, but for him as well.  
  
Her father embraced her, and she could feel his chest heaving, as he was processing what he had just learned – a terrible truth he had suspected for some months now. He retired early that night and Margaret could see tears in his face as he walked upstairs.  
  
On Saturday, Margaret had not seen him – apparently, he went out early in the morning and had not yet come back. Margaret smiled at that, though only slightly – at least she knew after whom she had gotten her habit of walking to think clearly. 

  


Margaret went on her daily walk before lunch and returned completely wet. Yet, she knew, she had to go out and think – there were many things that she had to think about.  
When she returned home, holding her hat over her head in order to save her hair from the falling water, she was met with a surprise.  
  
Mr. Colls was standing in the parlor, with a bouquet of flowers in his hand, waiting for her. Dixon stood next to him with a puzzled look. Before Margaret returned, Dixon had to endure one of the strangest conversations in her life.  
  
“Dixon, is Miss Hale courting someone?” Mr. Colls had asked her.  
  
Dixon stopped and pondered what to say. She knew that officially, Miss Margaret was not courting anyone and she knew perfectly well that Mr. Colls is in the possession of this information as well – it was obvious to her that Mr. Colls was asking if Margaret had a secret beau. Dixon did not know what to say – she knew indeed that Margaret had one - the embrace she witnessed between her and Mr. Thornton made sure of that – but she also knew that gossip would do no good to Margaret and she did not think that Mr. Colls deserved to know everything. She felt conflicted, in the last few days, she started to almost root for Mr. Thornton and she knew that Margaret resisted Mr. Colls’ charms in favor of Mr. Thornton.  
  
She mustered her strength and talked in her blunt and quite un-servant-like way. “I do not think that that is any business of yours, sir,” she said, finally – though she worried her pause made it clear that she was hiding something.  
  
“Oh, come on, Dixon. You must know by now that I would like to make it my business,” Mr. Colls said. “You gave her my note, haven’t you? I mean, I thought we were on the same side!”  
  
“I did give her your note, only because I am a servant and have to do these things. But do not consider me on your side – in matters such as these I will be always on Miss Margaret’s side,” she said.  
  
“But this is her side! I know of their hardships with money – I do have wealth and would take care of her – you must admit that I am a great match for her!” he said, gesturing at her.  
  
Dixon could not help but scoff – this made it clear to her that this man knew nothing about Margaret Hale. If he had, he would have never brought forward the question of his higher rank or his wealth and make Margaret into a possession.  
  
“Dixon, come on! She is beautiful and I am high in society and wealthy – can she say no? Does she have someone better?”  
  
Dixon rolled her eyes, though in a way he could not see her. She breathed in, preparing to speak very harsh words when she heard the door open.  
  
Margaret walked in, soaked to the bone, with red cheeks and a hat in her hand. She walked past the parlor when she heard his voice.  
  
“Miss Hale,” she heard Mr. Colls speak. He walked towards her from the parlor with the bouquet of red roses.  
  
“Mr. Colls,” Margaret said, surprised. “You must forgive my appearance, I did not know we would have you as a visitor,” Margaret said.  
  
Mr. Colls only laughed. “As if something could keep me away! I have brought you something, Miss Hale,” he said, handing the flowers to her confidently. The bouquet was very beautiful and must have been very expensive, Margaret thought as she examined it.  
  
“Thank you, Mr. Colls,” she said. “We must put them in the water, so they do not wither away,” she continued, looking for any way to disappear from this man. It was not that he was not handsome – he indeed was, but she felt he could not be trusted, and she hated the way he had spoken about John. Mr. Colls reminded her of Henry Lennox, except even more…Margaret could not quite put her finger on it – snobbish, perhaps? Materialistic?  
  
“Indeed. Miss Hale, I have been wondering if you would go to the concert with me? Next weekend?” he asked her presumptuously.  
  
Margaret was stunned – he was very forward even though Margaret had never given him any encouragement. She did not know how to respond, looking around her for clues.  
  
The bell at the door saved her and she smiled politely at Mr. Colls and walked towards the door. Dixon emerged from the parlor and opened the door just moments before Margaret could make her way there.  
  
“Miss Dixon, hello,” said a deep voice, one that sent a shiver down Margaret’s spine made her heart beat in such a way that everyone must have heard it.  
  
“Mr. Thornton, indeed. Do come in,” Dixon said, the surprise and also a tiny bit of a smirk clear in her voice. Mr. Colls straightened his shoulders and made his excuse to Margaret.  
  
“Miss Hale, I must go. I do hope you will accompany me to the concert and that we will see each other again soon,” he said.  
  
“Goodbye, Mr. Colls,” Margaret only said, determined to give him no hint of inclination as there truly was none.  
  
John had walked into the hall by that time, eyeing the scene suspiciously. He could see William Colls – of all people! – standing next to Margaret with a wide smile looking at her and Margaret with a large bouquet of red roses in her hand. He felt a sting of pain in his heart – jealousy gripped at him, as he held the flowers in his hand.  
  
Mr. Colls walked past him toward the door, where Dixon gave him his hat and coat.  
  
“Thornton,” he said.  
  
“Colls,” John said back in a low voice. It would have been enough to see Colls here after everything that had happened, but to see him trying to woo Margaret made his blood run cold.  
  
Mr. Colls got out of the door with one last glance at Margaret, but she did not look at him, instead looking at the new visitor. As the door closed, Dixon clear her throat and opened the door to the parlor so as to let Mr. Thornton and Margaret into it. Margaret handed the large bouquet to Dixon, who scuffled away in order to put it into water, and also disappear for a minute.  
  
Before she closed the door, she looked at them with a serious look and said: “And let’s have nothing improper, shall we?” She then lowered her voice and in a near whisper said: “Not like last time!”  
  
Margaret cleared her throat as the door closed, her face burning. Even John could feel a rush coming to his face.  
  
“I… I have brought you this,” John said, slowly, handing her a bouquet of flowers.  
  
“Yellow roses! John, how thoughtful of you. I thank you very much. How did you know?” she asked him as she took the flowers from him and sniffed them – they smelled like the roses in Helstone and Margaret thought she could burst with gratitude towards John. She then noticed a vase with water standing prepared on the table. Clever Dixon, Margaret thought.  
  
“You once spoke of them when I came over for a lesson. I thought… I thought you fond of them from the way you spoke,” he said, almost shyly. However, even Margaret’s reception could not make the stab of jealousy go away. “Of course, they are not nearly as romantic or grand as a bouquet of red roses…” he started with pain in his voice.  
  
Margaret winced – she was worried that John would think something more about the encounter with Mr. Colls and he had now proven her right. She noticed the coldness between the two men, and she knew there must have been a story – one that was unknown to her and one that was more than just childish grievances from school.  
  
She looked at John then. “Do… Do you like him?” he asked. Margaret was startled – she expected many things but what she thought she could hear in his voice was jealousy.  
  
She took a few steps from the table and took his hand into hers. She put her second hand on his chest, feeling the rapid beating of his heart under her hand. John shivered at the sudden closeness – they had been closer than this before, but somehow this felt more intimate than anything else.  
  
“John, listen to me,” she said as she looked into his eyes deeply. “I know you are short-tempered, we both are aware of the fact,” she smiled. “But do not lose your temper now, please. I understand that there is some story between the two of you, that much is obvious to me. He is a pupil of my father’s and I have met him two days ago and since then I have realized something,” she continued, not quite sure where her words were coming from.  
  
John’s breath stopped and he looked at her. He was afraid of this – he knew it must be coming, the final rejection. She had realized that she liked him better, that damn blonde and handsome son of a-  
  
“I have realized,” she continued slowly, not taking her eyes from his, “ that no matter of how charming or handsome he tried to be, I could only think of the fact that he did not have dark hair, a strong jaw and blue eyes.”  
  
John gripped her hand in his as his chest exploded with emotion.  
  
“Really?” was all John could muster to say.  
  
“He did not make me laugh – his humor was far from mine and he never listened to my opinion. He liked to let me know of his wealth and his employment. And, most importantly, John,” she continued, her heart going into a frenzy. “He did not make me feel what you do,” she said in a whisper.  
  
“So, to answer your question – no, I do not like him. I never have and I doubt I ever will. And I find your flowers ten times grander in worth than anything he could have ever offered me,” she finished. She stood on her tiptoes and planted a very quick kiss onto his lips, one that she hoped would tell him everything she could not express with words.  
  
She drew away and he smiled at her, the broadest smile Margaret had ever seen. She pointed toward the table and gestured for them to sit. They both sat down at the settee, as close to each other as propriety allowed, but not closer.  
  
“I am so sorry, Margaret, for being like this. I could not help it, when I saw him leaving, looking at you like that… Like he wanted to possess you, if that makes sense. I do not know – I just hated him, it was pure hatred. And at that moment it had nothing to do with history, it was irrational, and it was only… Only jealousy. And I know that jealousy is something of little use to anybody but when it comes to you… I just – I know we have not promised each other anything and I do want you to be happy, even if it were with him, but… I just thought at that moment that perhaps our – well, you know – acquaintance and encounters meant more to me than you…”  
  
Margaret sighed. Men could be so foolish sometimes, she thought. And so blind.  
  
“John, I am sorry, but that is a little ridiculous – though we have not made explicit promises to each other… you are right. And speaking of our.. well, our encounters – we have got to stop doing that, sooner or later, we are going to get caught,” she said.  
  
“I know, I do apologize – those were my fault. I cannot keep a clear mind when I am around you and I act impulsively,” he muttered, studying his hands in his lap.  
  
They sat in awkward silence for a while, neither of them sure of what to say next. Finally, Margaret cleared her throat and looked at him.  
  
“Are you here for a lesson with my father, John? Because if you are, I have to inform you that he is not here,” Margaret said.  
  
John looked at her, as if just now remembering why he came. “No, I have not come for a lesson. Though, I had hoped that today would lead to an audience with Mr. Hale,” he said. “I think, Margaret, that you know by now, but if you do not, I must say it. I enjoy spending time with you. I like you very much, Margaret, and I wanted to ask… I wanted to ask you, properly, to court me,” he said, closing his eyes, holding his breath.  
  
“I… I must regret to say that we cannot court now! When the strike is ongoing – it would not look well. And with my mother sick as well..” she started to say.  
  
“Is that your only concern?” he asked.  
  
She shook her head and he felt a sting of pain in his chest.  
  
“My father is not here today because… Because he knows. He found out yesterday,” Margaret said. “I do not wish to bother him with anything until… Until he feels better.”  
  
John’s shoulders eased as he heard this. He was sad, of course, for Mr. Hale finding out the truth but to know that Margaret did not want to court him only because of her parents and the strike and she had no other objections made him hope again.  
  
“What if,” he said after a while, “What if we court and not tell anyone?”  
  
Margaret looked at him, puzzled. She then smiled, almost grinned, and looked at him. “Is not that what we have been doing, if you think about it?” she asked teasingly.  
  
John laughed with her. “I suppose so, yes. But not officially,” he said.  
  
“This also would not be official, John,” she said in return.  
  
“No, it would be,” John said. “It would be official between us, Margaret. We would not have to be scared or nervous about seeing each other or meeting – we could really get to know each other and make it official whenever we wish,” he continued, speaking in a low voice. “And if, in the end, you… you would not want me, we can part ways without a scandal,” he finished.  
  
  
Margaret winced, yet again. She could feel that he added the last sentence somewhat reluctantly. “Well, that applies to you as well, doesn’t it?” She liked John's idea overall - to get to know and understand him better was a great wish of hers.  
  
“In different circumstances, it might have. But it won’t,” he said resolutely, avoiding eye contact and instead studying one of his fingers.  
  
“How do you know? How can you know that it will not be the other way around?” she asked.  
  
“Because I have… have been thinking about you since the day we met, Margaret. I have never felt that way about anyone before and I know, in my heart, that this is right,” he said in a whisper.  
  
Margaret was shocked at the confession. She started to suspect that he did have feelings for her just last week and now… She remembered the first day they met – how different an experience for both of them it must have been! For him, a meeting with a woman that he felt attracted to since the beginning and for her…  
  
When she thought about it now – she had always found him attractive and herself drawn to him, she had only never permitted these feelings because she thought him morally unfeeling and arrogant. Oh, how wrong she had been.  
  
She shuffled closer to him and stroked his cheek – she had found that her hand went up on its own accord, as did her next words – she had no control over her actions or words at that moment.  
  
“John, I know. And… I agree. Nothing has ever felt so right,” she said.  
  
John took her face in his hands as their lips met in the gentlest of kisses. She put her hands in his hair, as if she never intended to let go. And at that moment, she did not. At that moment, sitting next to him in the parlor, their lips joined gently, she realized that it did indeed feel right. She never wanted to let go of him – and as they embraced each other, butterflies in her stomach, it was the first time that Margaret had thought of love.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your kind words and feedback, I do appreciate it a lot! I did not think that anyone would be much interested so I am very grateful! I enjoy writing this story a lot, so I will definitely keep posting, at least for a while :-) I welcome any feedback - criticism or positive, recommendations (I would credit you of course)... Thank you for reading and I will post soon!


	9. Chapter 9

John shifted in his bed, staring at the ceiling above. He had spent his whole night helping the Irish off the train and he was exhausted. He knew that the workers would find out sooner or later and that the strike would peak very soon. He hoped that it would happen soon – though he always had some money in reserve, the amount was getting smaller almost by the day and he was worried about the mill.  
  
The mill however, for the first time during a strike, was not his main concern. John was afraid that Mr. Hale would never consent to him marrying his daughter if he had no money. It had been almost two weeks since she consented to court him in private and though the strike was usually not the time for a Master to be happy, John had been the happiest he had ever been in his life. He stopped at the Hales’ house almost daily (he professed a wish to Mr. Hale to have his lessons every other day who happily complied). John knew it was another expense, but he could not stay away and this was the best disguise. Though they were courting in secret, John could not wait until the strike ended so he could ask Mr. Hale for a proper consent.  
  
John smiled to himself. He hoped to propose to Margaret as soon as possible. Even if he had not loved her before their courtship and did not want to spend the rest of her life with her, he would have, now– and that certainly was not the case. In the last couple of weeks, they were able to get to know each other. He realized that he could not be without her – their discussions, arguments and brief handshakes were the only thing he could think about. Well, almost everything, John thought, as he remembered some of their quick embraces in the hallways or the parlor when they were alone. He loved kissing her, but he was also very self-aware to never take it further than that – he did not want to compromise Margaret or make her feel uncomfortable – or pressure her into anything she did not want. Truth be told, though she received his attentions with pleasure, he was not sure what her true feelings for him were and he was worried if this whole thing was too rushed for her. He was glad that she had agreed to court him, but he also knew that his attachment was very deep and probably much deeper than hers.  
  
John sighed. The sun was already climbing up and he knew he would have to get up and take care of the Irish – he knew that the strikers would come sooner or later. As he got up to get himself dressed, another person, about a mile from him, got up in order to do the same.  
  
Margaret dressed herself and walked downstairs in order to prepare breakfast instead of Dixon, whose backache had been terrible for the last few days. Margaret tried to help her as much as she could. As she started to boil the water for eggs, she could not help but smile at the events of last night. Mr. Thornton – no, John, she reminded herself for the hundredth time – was with her most of the evening and when her father dozed off during the lecture, they kept talking for well over two hours. Before he left, he kissed her hand in a most gentleman-like manner, and she – to her own and his, had kissed him. She was grateful to John for the opportunity to get to know him better before…  
  
Margaret blushed. She had started to suspect since John’s many confessions of ‘deeper feelings’ that he intended to make her an offer. And the more she was thinking about him, the more she thought that she would probably accept. She did not know her feelings perfectly yet, but she thought herself attached to him – she could base these things on her constant thoughts of him, of his words, his voice, his hands on her, his lips brushing softly against hers…  
  
Margaret sighed. She genuinely liked him, but was it love? She did not know – how could she tell? She wondered of this almost constantly, suddenly realizing that the water had been boiling for at least half a minute.  
  
When she prepared the meal, she softly woke up her parents by a knock on their bedroom, then woke up Dixon as well. Though Dixon was quick to be angry at Margaret for doing the breakfast ‘like a servant’, both women knew that she was very grateful – they had been much closer since the revelation of her mother’s illness as well as the understanding between Margaret and John.  
  
After breakfast, Mr. Hale excused himself in order to prepare for his lesson and Dixon started to clean up in the kitchen. Margaret stayed with her mother, both finishing their tea.  
  
“Margaret, I have been meaning to speak with you,” Maria Hale said all of a sudden.  
  
Margaret nodded and smiled, though she wondered if she had done something wrong.  
  
“I… I know that we have long not talked of anything of importance, but I feel I must now. I believe you in love or very close to it,” her mother said with a smile.  
  
Margaret gasped slightly. “Wh- what? Did father say something to you?”  
  
Maria Hale laughed slightly and looked at her. “Margaret, please. Your father is a lovely man, but he is as blind to these things as it gets. He could never even muster up the strength to talk to me and he was quite blind to the fact that I had fallen in love with him,” she remembered with a sad smile. “No. Your father may be blind, but I am not. I have noticed the way you close yourself more, how you attend all the lectures and how often you just stare into nothing, blushing slightly.”  
  
Margaret blushed as if to prove her point but did not say anything.  
  
Her mother looked at her. “Now tell me, is it Mr. Thornton?” she asked.  
  
Even if Margaret had not nodded, her deep blush and hurried breath would have betrayed her.  
  
Her mother smiled at her. “I had thought as much. Is there an arrangement between you?” she asked slowly.  
  
Margaret took in a deep breath. “Quite. I have agreed to.. to court him in a way, in secret. I thought it would be improper to court him during the strike and also, your situation…”  
  
“Margaret, no. I know that since you have found out about my illness, you have been trying to think only of me, but do not. Do not let it get away – if you love him, this is a chance of happiness that may never return,” her mother said, somehow sounding very resolute.  
  
“But, mother, I do not… I do not actually kn-“ she started, her voice breaking as she looked at her hands in her lap.  
  
“You do not know your feelings yet,” her mother said as if talking about the weather. Margaret nodded slowly and blushed even more – this had been one of the most intimate conversations she had had with her mother ever since they left Helstone.  
  
“Well I cannot tell you what your feelings are, no one can, except for you. But I will tell you this – as soon as you find out, act on them in an instance. Though I am not fond of the Northern ways, in this they are right – it does not do to bottle up feelings and emotions as deep as this,” she said, brushed her hand against Margaret’s cheek and retired to her bedchamber.  
  
After such a conversation, Margaret needed to go for her daily walk and she got out of the house in mere minutes. She walked through the streets and towards the graveyard, walking past Marlborough Mills. Everything was unusually quiet, even during a strike and she thought she could see someone in the upper rooms of the Mill.  
  
She walked on, however, towards the hill where her feelings towards Mr. Thornton had altered for the first time. All of a sudden she could hear footsteps behind her. She turned around, only to see a man in a top hat walking quickly towards her.  
  
“Miss Hale,” he called out, smiling broadly.  
  
“Mr. Colls,” Margaret replied, slightly disappointed to see this gentleman – though she knew it was foolish, she had hoped to see someone else.  
  
Mr. Colls offered her his hand and she took it, if only to not be uncivil – she had no desire to be walking out with him anywhere and hoped no one would see them and get the wrong impression. They walked for a while, Mr. Colls jabbering on about one thing or the other, but she was listening only partially.  
  
Mr. Colls studied her face. “I am glad I have found you, Miss Hale. I was actually on my way to your house. You turned up her like an angel,” he said. Margaret did not say anything -she did not appreciate the compliment but knew not how to reject it. She would have to learn, she thought, how to reject a man properly.  
  
“I have been meaning to talk to you,” he said. “On a matter of urgency,” he continued.  
  
Margaret looked at him, her face indifferent. She was starting to get uncomfortable under the unwavering stare from this man.  
  
“Indeed?” was all Margaret could say.  
  
The man nodded and stopped. She turned around to look at him.  
  
“You are an extraordinary woman, Margaret,” he said. Margaret shivered as he used her Christian name, opening her mouth in order to correct him. He must have understood her shiver in a vastly different manner, as he smiled broadly. All of a sudden, his mouth was on hers as he brought her closer, his hands roaming her body.  
  
Margaret’s eyes widened in shock, as she realized what was happening and she started to push him away, pulling her face away from him as soon as possible. She realized now that one of his hands had touched her backside and the other had been right next to her breast. The presumptiveness of such an act from this man made her want to hurl and she felt disgusted at his attempt. She hated that he had kissed her. The anger soared inside her as she brought her hand to his face in such a force so as to make him stumble.  
  
She gasped a bit at her own reaction, then turned around and ran towards Milton, tears she did not know about coming down her face.  
  
As she ran through the empty streets, she thought she would explode. As soon as Mr. Colls’ lips touched her own, she knew she only wanted someone else to do so… Oh, John, she though. How guilty she felt. She thought of Mr. Colls’ hands on her, even as they were for such a brief moment and she was disgusted. He was not supposed to touch her! She thought. She stopped in the middle of the street.  
  
Margaret gasped. Only he was ever supposed to be near her in such a way, she never wanted anyone else!  
  
_“As soon as you find out, act on them in an instance…”_ her mother’s words echoed in her head.  
  
She quickened her pace again and set out in the direction of Marlborough Mills.  
  
She had to tell him, she just had to let him know. No, she needed him to know.  
  
She needed him to know she was in love with him.


	10. Chapter 10

John closed the door behind him hurriedly.  
  
They were here.  
  
John ran up the stairs only to find his mother trying to calm down a hysterical Fanny – crying and expecting to be killed by them. If the situation was not dangerous as it was and he could not see the terror in his sister’s eyes, John might have scoffed at her behavior during a crisis. He did not, however, mostly because he was angry at himself for dragging them into this – he had known that they would come and yet he did nothing to protect them.  
  
“Try to stop her from panicking.” He said to his mother.  
  
“Miss Hale is here,” his mother responded, rather absentmindedly, as she ran her hand through Fanny’s hair, trying to soothe her.  
  
“What? Where is she?” John’s breath stopped in horror. What was she doing here? He was angry at himself for having his mother and sister there, but could he survive if something would have happened to her.  
  
He barely registered his mother glancing toward the parlor closer to the staircase as he basically lunged towards it. He entered the room, only to see her standing by the window – her pale skin shining in the dark of the room. If he weren’t in shock of seeing her, he might have noticed her ruffled dress and rather looser hair than normally.  
  
“Margaret,” he whispered, hoping that his mother would not hear. Though his mother had to know everything, he hoped that Fanny’s cries would save Margaret and himself from any thoughts of impropriety.  
  
She turned around to look at him, her breath stopping suddenly as he walked toward her and clutched her hand. She shivered at the touch – she needed to speak to him on a matter of great urgency and only now realized how unfortunate her timing truly was.  
  
“John, I-“ she started, but stopped quickly. For one, she did not know how to start, and she also noticed the ever hovering figure of Mrs. Thornton near the door.  
She cleared her throat and glanced toward the door so that John would understand her change of tone. “Mr. Thornton, I am sorry to disturb you at this time,” she managed to say, trying to mask her emotions.  
  
“Miss Hale, I am sorry you have visited us at this unfortunate moment.” He managed to say after he noticed to what – or rather whom – she was alluring.  
  
He hoped that from the door, their joined hands were virtually invisible – he did not know how to explain all of this to his mother.  
  
“Mr. Thornton,” she started, clutching his hand a bit more to show him the urgency. “I have come because I need to te-“  
  
Whatever she had meant to say, John could not know as a loud bang sounded from the courtyard. They both looked out of the window only to see an angry mob of strikers running down the door to the mill.  
  
“Oh my God, they’re going for the mill door.” That was all John was able to muster to say. He wanted Margaret to continue whatever she had wanted to say but knew that the moment was gone.  
  
“Oh no,” Margaret gasped beside him. “It’s Boucher.” He could see her distress at seeing him, though he did not know of whom she was speaking. He wanted to comfort her, but he could see his mother’s eyes flash in the doorway.  
  
“Let ‘em yell. Keep up your courage for a few minutes longer Mar - Miss Hale.” He said in his distant voice.  
  
Margaret grew angry at this – a few minutes longer for what? Did he think she was afraid of them?  
  
“I’m not afraid! Can’t you pacify them?”  
  
“The soldiers will make them see reason,” he said without thinking.  
  
“Reason? What kind of reason?” her shock evident in her voice. Then the realization came to her face and she exclaimed, perhaps a bit too emotionally: “Mr. Thornton, go down there and face them like a man! Speak to them as though they were human beings. They are driven mad with hunger! They don’t know what they are doing. Go and save your innocent Irishmen.”  
  
Before John knew what he was doing, he had run downstairs and outside. As he stopped before the door, his courage was gone as he could see the mass of men with anger, rage and desperation in their faces. What was he doing?  
  
Before he could come to his senses, he heard a voice.  
  
“In God’s name, stop!”  
  
No! She could not be here – what was she doing? These were all hurried thoughts in the mind of John Thornton at that moment.  
  
“Think of what you are doing.” She spoke with confidence and there was no sign of fear in her voice – John wanted nothing more than to embrace her and carry her away from these people – they did not deserve her goodness! “He is one man and you are many. Go home. The soldiers are coming. Go in peace.”

  


“Will ye send the Irish home?” a voice could be heard from the crowd.  
  
Before thinking of the consequences, John roared back at them: “Never!”  
  
The crowd started to scream more and more and even Margaret started to look uneasy. John could not take it; she was standing so close and his only thoughts were to bring her to safety. He clutched at her shoulders and tried to bring her away from them.  
  
“Go inside!” he said aloud, then lowered his voice to a mere whisper. “Please, Margaret,” he whispered into her ear.  
  
“No!” she said in a strong voice. It was then that it seemed to John as if she had noticed something and she turned around and clung her hands around his neck, almost as if – was she trying to shield him? John thought.  
  
“They will not hurt a woman!” she exclaimed and looked deeply into his eyes before shielding him again and trying to push him towards the door.  
  
Although the sensation of her arms around him was not entirely new to John, he wished it could have been under a pleasanter circumstance. He tried to shrug her off, the fear of them hurting her all too great. He tried to get her away, but she held on to him strongly, so strongly in fact that John had started to wonder – if only for a split second – of her feelings and if they have changed so significantly.  
  
John might have continued this train of thought when all of a sudden Margaret’s hands fell from his neck and she stumbled to the ground. In his confusion, it had taken him a moment to realize what had trespassed and he kneeled quickly next to her lying body on the floor.  
  
To his horror, he could see quite a large amount of blood on her temple and a stone lying next to her head. The dread and rage in him exploded and all he could do was scream at them.  
  
“Are you satisfied? You came here for me so kill me if that’s what you want.”  
  
Thankfully, the soldiers arrived just at that moment, and the crowd had started to run away and disappear – the commotion scared most of them.  
  
John felt lucky for a moment – if the soldiers had not arrived, he would have probably killed some of them for throwing that damn stone. Oh, Margaret! He thought suddenly.  
  
John turned back to her. He felt tears in his eyes as fear gripped him. She was laying there, pale as death, her white skin a contrast to the red trickle of blood on her beautiful face. Her eyes were closed, and if it were not for the blood, John would have thought she was sleeping.  
  
Alas, the blood was there and only her ragged breaths assured John of her being alive. He brushed the hair from her face and looked at her – what would he do if she hadn’t been?  
  
He took her into his arms and gently carried her into the house, ignoring the cries of the people outside – only Margaret mattered to him at that moment. At that moment he would not have cared if the mill crumbled around them as long as she would still be breathing in the safety of his arms.  
  
\--------------------------------------------------   
As soon as Margaret entered Marlborough Mills, she knew that she should not be there. Everywhere was completely quiet, though she could hear distant cries – some from somewhere far behind her, from the street and other from the mill. When she looked up, she realized that she did indeed see people there in the upper window – now she could see them clearly – figures huddled together, faces with scared expressions.  
  
She was let into the mill and told to barricade the door, though she did not know exactly why. She ran inside and found Fanny and Mrs. Thornton upstairs – Fanny in a nervous, almost hysterical fit and Mrs. Thornton in her normal state of scowling at everything and everyone.  
  
“Miss Hale!” Mrs. Thornton exclaimed, “what are you doing here?”  
  
Margaret struggled to respond; she then remembered a distant memory of Fanny telling her something…  
  
“I… I have heard of a water mattress that I might borrow for my mother; she is still ill…” she stumbled through her words. “I am sorry to have come so unannounced and unexpected and at an inconvenient time, Mrs. Thornton,” she finished.  
  
“Right,” was all Mrs. Thornton said. Margaret wondered if it was sarcasm or not – with her she was never really sure.  
  
“I- I probably should go,” she said quickly, as if to turn away. Mrs. Thornton clenched her hand.  
  
“I cannot let you go now. Something could happen to you and Lord knows he would never forgive me for leaving you to go alone,” Mrs. Thornton said, though her latter words were muttered so quietly that it was hard for Margaret to even hear them – but she did hear them anyway and blushed slightly at her remark.  
  
And so Margaret stayed, in silence, while Fanny talked and talked – or rather cried and cried at the prospect of being killed, that John had hired the Irish and that she had just ordered this new gown in order to have it torn to pieces by the strikers.  
  
Margaret was confused for a while and Mrs. Thornton must have sensed it, for she explained to Margaret the problematics of the hired hands from Ireland.  
  
Margaret nodded her understanding and left for the parlor, where she settled herself by the window. If she is to stay here during whatever is to happen, she meant to see exactly what is happening.  
  
As soon as she stood by the window, she could see John running towards the house and her heart leapt. It was almost as if all of a sudden she remembered why she came here, why she needed to speak with him. She hoped he would come there, so she could meet him.  
  
He did come and startled her from her thoughts. She realized only then, when they were there together, that she had indeed chosen a terrible time to reveal her feelings. She tried to, and then all hell broke loose as the gate of the mill was brought down and she could see the workers – many of them acquaintances of her, or even friendly faces, now desperate and angry.  
  
She noticed Boucher. It stabbed at her heart to see him there – she hated this whole situation. The more she grew acquainted and attached to John, the more she realized that there was far more to his side than she had ever before realized. While she might have disagreed with his methods or his decisions, she knew he was a fair master and if anything, the last weeks had shown her that he is troubled as well by the problems connected to cotton mills. She knew how desperate people like Boucher were and if someone had asked her even two months ago, she would have straight run to their help. But now, her whole world had spun around, and she doubted who was in the right and who was not – this was indeed a new sensation for Margaret, and she hated the doubt inside her. Was this truly to see things from both sides?  
  
Her train of thought was broken by John’s mentioning the soldiers. She was appalled – calling the soldiers on the strikers seemed very harsh to her and that again put them in her good favors.  
Before she could stop her words, her mind manufactured all the words needed and she instructed John. “Mr. Thornton, go down there and face them like a man! Speak to them as though they were human beings. They are driven mad with hunger! They don’t know what they are doing. Go and save your innocent Irishmen.”  
  
And to her own shock, he went, letting go of her hand. As soon as he appeared in front of the door, she realized what a mistake it was. Her heart started beating faster than ever before and all she could think about was him – what if something happened to him? What if they hurt him?  
  
And just like it had happened mere moments ago, she swayed more towards favoring the point of the master – as she ran down the stairs, she found herself praying – to God, to the Sun, to anyone who would listen – so that he would be alright. Selfishly, she thought of the misfortune of never telling him of her true feelings and him never getting to hear them – this fear in itself convinced her that her mother’s advice was right and that she must speak with him as soon as this madness ended and she knew he was unharmed.  
  
The next moments passed in a blur – she tried to talk to the mob, quite unsuccessfully and then she saw it – only a glimpse. Boucher had a stone in his hand and a desperate expression on his face and Margaret knew it was trouble.  
  
She threw herself around John, trying to shield him, for she knew that once resolved, Boucher would strike him and take John away from her.  
  
She vaguely remembered John trying to get her out of there and then a sharp pain and darkness.  
  
Margaret’s eyes fluttered open, but the sharp pain of that simple movement made her close her eyes again immediately. Her head was pounding and when she finally did open her eyes, her eyes unadjusted to everything around her, but other than that, she felt quite alright. She heard footsteps and so closed her eyes again, hoping for solitude.  
  
“And so Mother has gone for Doctor Donaldson, for I for sure would not venture to go out alone now!” Fanny’s voice echoed through the parlor, even though she was trying to keep it down.  
  
“Did you not see, Miss?” another voice, quite possibly from a servant, Margaret thought.  
  
“Seen what?”  
  
“Seen the Master and Miss Hale!”  
  
“What about them?” Fanny’s voice was all of a sudden very interested – any gossip would be welcome to Miss Thornton, but gossip about her own brother, that she was especially keen to know.  
  
“How Miss Hale lunged at the Master and embraced him, quite improperly?” said the other, quitter voice. Margaret could hear Fanny gasp.  
  
“I knew it! I knew she liked him – oh, she will never escape it now! Did all of you see?”  
  
“Yes, Miss, we could see it quite well from the other window,” the servant said.  
  
Margaret could hear Fanny laugh as she came closer and could feel fresh air on her face – the servant was fanning her. The comfortable sensation made Margaret sleepy and she soon forgot the dialogue and drifted back to sleep.  
  
When she woke again, it was because someone was touching her temple. As she opened her eyes, she could see Dr. Donaldson looking at her face and examining it.  
  
“Ah, Miss Hale, I am glad indeed you have awoken – that is very promising,” he said, then paused and looked at the wound again. He then looked at Mrs. Thornton standing near the sofa on which Margaret was lying. “It looks worse than it is,” he said finally. Margaret could see Mrs. Thornton sigh, though if it was in relief Margaret did not know.  
  
“But you should still rest, Miss Hale,” the doctor continued.  
  
Margaret opened her mouth to argue that she should return home, but her throat was dry and before she could even croak out a syllable, Dr. Donaldson stopped her with a raised hand.  
  
“There will be no argument, Miss. You must rest – even though it is not as bad as it seems, it would not be wise to have you now make the journey home across town,” as he continued, he glanced at Mrs. Thornton. She only nodded.  
  
“Yes, thank you Doctor, we will put her in one of the guest bedrooms and send word to her parents,” she said finally. Dr. Donaldson nodded. He also reminded them that if the bleeding should continue or if Miss Hale would feel any discomfort or severe dizziness – or faint, even – that he should be called for. Mrs. Thornton nodded her agreement and before Margaret noticed, he was gone.  
  
She tried to sit up but managed to do so only partially. Meanwhile, she could feel the hawk eyes of Mrs. Thornton on her.  
  
Mrs. Thornton said down into an armchair and viewed Margaret up and down. They sat in an awkward silence for a few minutes before Mrs. Thornton started.  
  
“Thank you,” she said, quietly.  
  
Margaret was startled – Mrs. Thornton was thanking her – and for what? For putting her son in danger?  
  
“I do not believe you are in any way indebted to me, Mrs. Thornton, for me to accept your thanks – I do not know what for,” Margaret said, relieved that her voice had returned.  
  
“For saving my son. If you had not stepped in front of him, the stone would have hit him, and they could have done much worse…” she said, her face expressionless but her eyes full of emotion. It was a trait that Margaret had noticed in John as well – he was able to not move a muscle in his face and yet his eyes spoke instead.  
  
“I- I had to, Mrs. Thornton. I was the one to put him into danger,” Margaret finally managed to say.  
  
Mrs. Thornton narrowed and looked into Margaret’s eyes – though it was uncomfortable, Margaret thought it wise to not look away first.  
  
“I know,” she said. “I heard,” she added, the intensity of her gaze almost made Margaret squirm, but she collected herself. She did not know how to respond, so she just stared at her, slowly realizing that her face was heated.  
  
“I feel I must tell you something, Miss Hale,” Mrs. Thornton said, and Margaret shivered, uncontrollably, at her threatening words. “I love my son, but I fear he may be blind to your games. I must tell you – do not hurt him. He has endured very much in his life and I would hate to add terrible heartbreak to the list.”  
  
Margaret shifted in her seat, trying to think of something to say – Mrs. Thornton, however, managed to speak first.  
  
“If you are not serious about him, do not give him any hope. After your… exposure today, I feel he may be honor bound to you, but do not mistake it only for an honor-bound attachment. I know he has lessons more often than he used to and that you have walked together many a time. I have seen you come to the mill, unchaperoned. I must inform you, that if you only wish to toy with him, be like the Southern ladies with all their graces, that you should stop now- “  
  
Margaret could not take it anymore and stood up abruptly, all of a sudden remembering the conversation between Fanny and the servant and she felt mortified. Had everyone seen her affection for John out in the open? Does everyone know except for John? Is he honor-bound now to make her an offer?  
  
“Mrs. Thornton,” she said, loudly enough to make her ears ring, as she sat down again, her head dizzy with the sudden movement. “I do not know what you think or exactly what you are implying but if you think I have some improper or strange strategy or design on your son then you are completely mistaken. Mr. Thornton is my father’s pupil and I believe him and me to be friends. If you suggest anything improper, then that is your right, but I must inform you that you are mistaken.”  
  
Mrs. Thornton looked surprised. “Only your father’s pupil? Miss Hale, do you think me stupid?”  
  
“Not at all, Mrs. Thornton, I believe you to be quite clever, to the point of assuming things that, and please do not be angry, are simply none of your business!” Margaret slammed back at her. She did not know why she was even angry, it was true that John and her had an understanding and that she was in love with him, but for some reason she did not want to tell his mother any of this until she spoke with him. It was their secret and their only.  
  
“None of my business? Miss Hale, it is my son we are talking about!”  
  
“Indeed, so I would believe that the matter of our acquaintance would be his matter and his business! Whatever is or is not between us is our own business and I am astounded that you would think your son being capable of doing something improper!” Margaret knew her words were improper, but her head was pounding, and she found she no longer cared. She had suddenly grown afraid – she did believe John had feelings for her, but what if he was now honor-bound to marry her because of her not thought-through actions and he would resent her for that? No, Margaret though to herself – she knew John was the first one interested in the other.  
  
Their heated exchange might have continued, if it were not for the gentleman in question to appear in the doorway. Margaret felt even more heat come to her face, she could not help it, however much she might have wanted to.  
  
John’s breath hitched – he had been so afraid that something terrible had happened to Margaret and now he could see her, sitting on the sofa and arguing with his mother as if nothing had happened.  
  
“Miss Hale!” he said, hoping that the emotion was not clear in his voice. He forgot, however, to whom he was speaking – if there were only two people in the world who knew him in the world, they were both with him in the room. He cleared his throat.  
  
“Miss Hale, I do hope you are feeling better!” he said, trying to sound calm. His mother understood, however unwillingly, that they needed some form of a privacy, so she seated herself into a different armchair, one that was the farthest from the pair. John thanked her with a glance and then was again consumed by the sight of Margaret, sitting there calmly. He wanted nothing more, yet again, than to hold her and stroke her hair.  
  
Brushing these thoughts aside, he seated himself on the sofa, as close to her as propriety allowed, but much farther than he would have wished.  
  
“Indeed, Mr. Thornton, I am feeling much better,” she answered. There was a silence, one that was interrupted by Mrs. Thornton from the corner.  
  
“Miss Hale, if you would like to change and rest, I believe the guest room will be quite ready by now,” she said calmly. John’s heart leapt – Margaret was staying in his house? That must mean that she was not well at all and…  
  
“I do hope that the situation is not that serious!” John said, before realizing how it sounded.  
  
Margaret looked at him, wondering. She had come to the mill with a single purpose and she was determined to express it – but now it seemed as if John was trying to get her to go back home – and she felt confused. She had hoped that her staying would allow her to have a private word with him, sooner or later, but now it seemed he did not even wish it? Was he so disgusted by her putting him in danger that he wanted her to leave immediately? Had she thrown every hope she might have had aside because of the strikers?  
  
“Of course, I do not mean to impose upon your hospitality,” she said, trying to stand up in order to leave – she had decided it would be easier to leave, though she wished nothing more than to stay and resolve everything.  
  
John, realizing the effect of his words just at that moment, motioned for her to sit again.  
  
“No, not at all! You misunderstand me, Mar- Miss Hale, I only meant that I hope your situation is not serious! After all, you have been harmed because of saving me,” he muttered his last words.  
  
“Well, Mr. Thornton, I was the one to put you into danger. I would have done the same for any man,” she said, immediately regretting her last sentence. John’s back narrowed and he tried to not let any emotion into his face.  
  
“Any man?” he said before he could stop himself, cursing in his mind – he knew how desperate he must have sounded.  
  
Oh, if we could but have a conversation without misunderstanding each other, Margaret thought to herself.  
  
“Well- No, I mean-,” she stammered, then tried to comport herself and manage her thoughts. “Mr. Thornton, I have come here today because I have some – well, I believe it to be – urgent business to, ehm, discuss,” she said, trying to sound as haughty as ever. She knew that Mrs. Thornton, though far away and pretending to read in the corner, was listening to every word she was saying.  
  
“Really?” John said. He saw her eyes and it was the first time he had dared to hope… No! he thought to himself. I cannot hope now, I must wait until she is ready…  
  
“I-“ she started.  
  
“Miss Hale! You have awoken, thank goodness! I must say I thought you looked dead and was afraid that we would have a terrible afternoon, trying to figure out what to do with a corpse!” Fanny Thornton’s voice echoed through the room, the impropriety of her words piercing any kind of moment they might have had.  
  
And so Margaret found herself constantly addressed by Fanny’s remarks and impertinent questions, until Mrs. Thornton said that dinner should be soon, and Margaret professed a wish to lie down, insisting that she was not hungry.  
  
A maid escorted her to a part of the house she had never been to and she found herself in a nicely decorated, though rather dark, bedroom. Another maid brough her a tray with tea and something small to eat, even though she did not wish to eat.  
  
However, when the door had closed, she had looked at the tray and, realizing that she was in fact very hungry, she ate most of the food on the tray. She then changed, with some difficulty concerning her corset, into a simple white nightgown that was lain at the chair – probably Fanny’s, she thought, though it was rather simple – and went to bed.  
  
\----------------------------------------------------   
The dinner was the most awkward silence John had ever had to live through, probably in his life. His mother’s coldness that evening, combined with Fanny’s crude remarks was enough to make any man annoyed, but it had been such a day for John that he could not take it for long and retired much sooner than appropriate. He went to his room and changed into a night shirt, but he left his trousers on, mostly for his fatigue and laid down on his bed, staring into the ceiling.  
  
John thought of the day – he had never been so scared in his life. What was more, he found himself wondering what he would do if Margaret had not survived the attack – how could he survive?  
  
As he pondered these, rather strange, thoughts, he realized a more important question – why did she come to the mill? She told him that she needed to speak with him – but what about? John’s heart stopped – what if she intended to end their secret courtship? Could he bear it?  
  
Or – John dared to hope, if only for a moment – did she come for a different reason – a rather opposite one? It was close to midnight, when he finally resolved what to do – these questions would not resolve themselves alone and there was only one way to find out everything.  
  
He slipped out of bed and made his way through the room outside, into the hall.  
  
\------------------------------------------------------   
As Margaret laid in the bed, sleep eluded her, as much as she felt the need to sleep. She had come to Marlborough Mills with a single goal, a goal that was still not achieved, and she hated that she could not speak with him.  
  
As she laid there, she pondered the events of the day. Oh, how she hated herself for putting John in danger! She knew she had to shield him from the mob – the crowd she had only now realized was completely uncontrollable by that point. What would she do if they had hurt him? How could she bear it? Even more so, if it were her own fault?  
  
If anything, the whole day confirmed her emotions fully, as she realized she did not know what she would do if he were not alive. Oh, how she needed to tell him! It broke her heart, realizing that John thought her indifferent or only slightly inclined to him!  
  
She put herself out of bed, slipping the soft shoes that the maid had left there for her and slowly made her way to the door. She knew she was risking her reputation, and basically everything in her life, but she could not take it, she had to see him.  
  
Resolved, she opened the door and her heart stopped as she saw what was behind them. She gasped with startlement and gazed into the pair of eyes awaiting her there – the piercing blue eyes she had so wanted – nay, needed – to see.

  



	11. Chapter 11

Their eyes met, and both seemed in utter shock.  
  
Margaret could feel blood rushing into her face as she looked at him in his night shirt and trousers, with dishevelled hair and an unreadable expression.  
  
How much John wanted to speak, and yet the sight of her, in her nightgown and with her hair down, so beautiful and improper at the same time, made him speechless. He only wished Margaret could ever feel like that about him.  
  
After a few moments of stunned silence, they both managed to recollect themselves.  
  
“Why did you come here-“  
  
“I am so sorry-“  
  
They both fell silent and John motioned for her to speak.  
  
Margaret sighed and tried to manage her thoughts into everything she wished to tell him, while remembering that they were in the house with other people and that they have to speak quietly and as quickly as possible.  
  
“I must apologize, so much. I never meant to put you into danger, I underestimated the workers and I have never felt so scared before,” she said, in hurried words.  
  
John looked at her puzzled. “You did not put me in danger, I went myself. Nor did you seem particularly afraid,” he said. Then, noticing the small patch on her temple, he added: “Are you alright?”  
  
Margaret shuddered – he misunderstood her once more, and, though she perhaps did not have the courage to tell him immediately of her feelings, she knew she had to gather up her courage and speak more directly.  
  
“I am quite well, thank you. But that is not what I meant, John. I was not afraid of them. I was scared that they would harm you. I feel-,” she stopped, realizing only now that she was only in her nightgown, a state no one apart her family and Dixon had ever seen her in. She put her hands over her chest so as to regain her composure, her courage leaving her again for a while.  
  
“I feel that we often misunderstand each other, John,” she said resolutely.  
  
John nodded slowly, now even more puzzled as to what she was alluding, or what she was trying to say. His chest grew tight – was he right in thinking that she wanted to end their – oh, how should he even call it – attachment?  
  
“And I think it is important to speak directly, not bottle up feelings anymore,” she continued.  
  
Dreading her next words, John thought what he will do if she actually does what he thought she would. It was almost cruel, even though he promised he would manage – a terrible arrangement, now that he believed it to be here –, to think that he could go back to being mere acquaintances, to him being her father’s pupil and nothing more. He took a deep breath.  
  
Then he noticed a small light from around the corner, growing larger every second. Margaret noticed it too and felt mortified – she could not permit being caught like this, especially when nothing improper had happened. And so she, without thinking, grabbed his hand and pulled him into the room, closing the door behind them.  
  
Jane, yawning as she turned around the corner, noticed only that a hairpin was on the ground, and, hurrying down the hall into a different part of the house to go and finally rest, resolved to return it to Miss Hale in the morning.  
  
Before John could realize what was happening, he found himself in the dimly lit guest bedroom, alone with Margaret.  
  
Margaret reddened with mortification and embarrassment as she realized how this might have looked to an onlooker, but, luckily, she heard the footsteps going away.  
  
She looked at John, as heat rushed into his cheeks as well, realizing what had happened.  
  
“I should go, I do not want to subject you to any more gossip,” he said, his voice raspy. The last thing he wished to do was to leave her now.  
  
Margaret, however, to his and hers astonishment, grabbed his hand.  
  
“I came here today with only one goal, John. I do not mean to leave it unsaid. In the morning, there will be no opportunity for us to speak anymore and then we may not see each other for days and I cannot leave this unsaid. I- no, we must be direct to each other, otherwise we risk misunderstanding each other yet again,” she spoke, with new resolve. She had to be direct, she knew that now, and she tried to gather her courage. She knew John cared for her – but could he call it love? What if she professes her feelings and he does not return them in the same way?  
  
John looked at her with pain. “You are right, Margaret, we must be direct. And if you indeed wish to break off our arrangement, I will manage my feelings, somehow – I will keep my word and leave you be, however hard it may be for myself. Because, Margaret, I have to tell you since this might be my last chance that it would be the hardest because I-“  
  
“I love you!” Margaret blurted out, the words she had bottled up whole day finally escaping – she felt lighter the moment she said them and then looked at him. To her astonishment and relief, she could see tears in his eyes. She grew red, realizing how unlady-like and perhaps even wanton her confession was.  
  
John closed the gap between them first, resting his forehead on hers, their noses close. Margaret could do nothing, though she found herself smiling in relief, her heart fluttering as John put his hands on the small of her back covered only by her nightgown.  
  
John smiled broadly, as a tear escaped one of his eyes – he had never felt happier, nor more surprised.  
  
“Oh, thank God,” was the only thing he managed to mutter as his lips met hers, conveying the deepest of emotion. In their tender embrace, Margaret realized how stupid she had been in thinking ill of this man – she too had never felt happier than exactly at that moment.  
  
  
He leaned back from her after a while, the need for air too great for both to continue.  
  
“I love you so much,” was all he could muster to say and then embraced her, her head on his chest and his lips in her hair – he had never before seen her with her hair down and it was magnificent to feel this close to her.  
  
John had never been a religious man, but at that moment he thanked God more than he had ever had and prayed for this never to end.  
  
After a while, they separated, and she motioned for him to sit on the sofa in the corner of the room. He sat, still dazed as in a dream as she went to find her dressing gown and at least put that around her.  
  
She sat down next to him, their shoulders next to each other, a few moments of absolute silence – not an awkward one, but a content silence, filled with happiness.  
  
“So… Is that why you came here today?” he asked after a while, still in disbelief.  
  
Margaret blushed. “Yes,” she nodded. “My mother told me – yes, she found out – that when I know my feelings I must tell you immediately so that I could never regret. And so I set out to do just that the moment I figured it out. If I were not in my own world I would have noticed that perhaps today was not the perfect day to pay you a visit, however I realized that too late,” she continued.  
  
He smiled. “I am glad that you did. And I will forever be indebted to your mother for that. Pray, what made you finally realize?” he asked.  
  
Margaret shivered uncomfortably with the memory of Mr. Colls’s lips on hers. She wanted to be honest with John, but at the same time she knew that she would ruin the moment.  
  
“I- well, I went for a walk,” she said slowly. “And,… This is not the time for me to talk about it, I do not want to ruin the moment.”  
  
John grimaced – he did not care what made her realize her affections, he was just glad and grateful that she did. If he knew what made her realize, he would have agreed with her to leave it for a different time, Margaret knew.  
  
“What if I tell you when I realized and you can tell me then. I do not want us to have secrets,” he continued.  
  
“I agree, but you must promise me to not get angry when I tell you,” she said.  
  
“Of course,” he paused. “I believe I fell in love with you within a month of us knowing each other. It only kept getting greater and greater and by the time of the dinner party, I was hopelessly lost in you,” he said, blushing ever so slightly and smiling at the recollection of it. Margaret looked at him, surprised.  
  
“I thought you did not like me, that you thought I was proud!” she exclaimed, surprised.  
  
John shook his head, laughing quietly. “Well I did think you haughty and prejudiced, at first, yes. But I felt.. I felt very attracted to you from the start and then found myself telling you are proud just in order to forget you…I almost felt like in a book, it reminded me of Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth,” he muttered his last words, taking her hand into his.  
  
She cocked her head at him. “Do not tell me that you have read Miss Austen?” she said in shock. He smiled shyly and looked at his hands. Though novels were regarded as unworthy of anyone’s time in Milton, John had always liked to escape into the stories of other people.  
  
“I would have never taken you for a person who enjoys novels. And here I thought I knew you better than anyone,” Margaret continued in wonder.  
  
“The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid 1,” he responded quietly, still blushing slightly. “And, you do know me better than most people, not even my Mother knows of my fondness for novels,” he continued, smiling at her.  
  
Margaret smiled back at him – to discover that this they could share together without the fear of being ridiculed or laughed at brought her great joy. To her relief, he also forgot about her promise of telling him her story, which would mean bringing up Mr. Colls and ruining this wonderful moment.  
  
“That one is my favorite as well,” she said, alluding to his quoting of the book. “I am glad you told me this. I feel imminently closer to you in spirit, knowing this – it seems insignificant, but it is not. John, I- I truly do love you, and I do not want this to end,” she whispered and then looked at him again, realizing that for the majority of her speech, she was looking at their intertwined hands.  
  
John knew exactly what she meant. “Have you perchance read Mr. Ellis Bell’s book2?” he asked after a while, knowing a quote that exactly expressed his feelings.  
  
She smiled knowingly and looked at him. “He is more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same 3,” she whispered. John thought his chest would burst. He knelt down next to the sofa and put his hand into his pocket, thanking God yet again – by having his trousers, he had, unconsciously, brought it with him.  
  
John took her hand in his as he knelt and pulled the small velvet box from his pocket.  
  
“Marry me,” he whispered, looking into her eyes, seeing them swell up with unsuppressed tears. He opened the box while saying these words, revealing a ring. It was a simple silver band with tiny yellow roses entwined around it and a small round sapphire in the middle, the color almost the same as John’s eyes.  
  
Margaret’s heart stopped as tears sprung out of her eyes. If she thought she had never been happier before, she felt she could explode with happiness now. She looked at the ring, simple and yet not, and perfect.  
She nodded vehemently and lowered her head to him.  
  
“Yes,” she whispered. He sprung up back to the sofa and brushed the tear from her face. He took her hand and slipped the ring on her finger – it did not fit perfectly, but that did not matter. Nothing is perfect, but they could strive to be, together.  
  
He took her head into his hands and whispered: “If you only knew how happy you have made me!”  
  
He then leaned in and kissed her. Margaret brought her hand to his cheek and to her astonishment, she found it tear-stained as well. If a reader of minds had come into the room at that moment, he would have read nothing in the room, only absolute happiness and relief, but no thoughts whatsoever.  
  
What did thoughts matter at that moment? They were together and happy, understanding each other as never before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 Northanger Abbey, Jane Austen.  
> 2 Ellis Bell was the alias of Emily Brontë under which she published her book Wuthering Heights, in 1847.  
> 3 Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë.
> 
> This is not the end yet, there will be more chapters, not many, but few. This one is shorter, but felt just right to me. I am sorry if I bother too much with the references to classical literature but I cannot help myself, I love classics too much and finding someone who would understand my quotes and references is kind of a dream come true that I can at least use in this fanfic. I hope you like this chapter, feel free to leave any feedback, positive or negative - as long as it is not hateful towards anybody, I am happy to hear any kind of constructive criticism relating to my 'book'. Thank you for the lovely feedback and for reading and I will post again soon!


	12. Chapter 12

The weight on the finger, however insignificant physically, was emotionally unimaginable. Margaret had never before thought of a marriage to anyone seriously and refused even Henry Lennox, though she was fond of him. But fondness, she realized, would not be enough and she had never felt herself ready to be induced to matrimony.  
  
That all changed. As they were seated on the sofa, bodies entwined, his hands on her back and hers in his hair, Margaret was gladder than ever before that she had refused Henry Lennox on that uncomfortable day. She had no idea how it had happened, but she had found a fire in herself, a burning passion, that only John Thornton could ignite. She would refuse any man, Margaret realized, any man, except for him. The love she felt for him was unbelievable to her at that moment and the love she felt radiating from him was overwhelming.  
  
“Oh, Margaret,” were the only silent whispers from John as she deepened the kiss, quite unknowingly.  
  
After several moments, which seemed an eternity and too short at the same time for both of our lovers, they hesitantly separated, Margaret blushing as she realized she had been holding on to John’s nightshirt quite wantonly.  
  
John blushed as he looked at her as well, seeing her slightly swollen lips and messy hair, made untidy by his own hands. He felt a burning desire for her, and though he could see the same in her eyes directed to him, he had to stop.  
  
“Margaret, we- ehm, we should stop,” he whispered, feeling even more heat rush to his face as he slowly realized his own – unfortunate – situation and shifted in his seat.  
  
Margaret only nodded with a small smile. “Ever so gallant, Mr. Thornton,” she said teasingly, though she was, truthfully, grateful. Though she felt a strange sort of desire, she also, mainly due to her education and childhood, wanted to respect the sanctity of marriage and she knew perfectly well that even what they have done already was very improper.  
  
John stood up and quickly tried to pull his night shirt as much over his trousers as he could so as to disguise his uncomfortable situation.  
  
He smiled at her when he neared the door and heard her coming closer to him as he turned.  
  
“We will talk more tomorrow, John. I love you,” she said. Though the words did not come easily for her the first time, they came so naturally once the wall of misunderstandings was gone that she was unafraid – nay, she was most persistent – to make John sure of her strong affection.  
  
“Yes, there will be a lot to discuss, Margaret,” he smiled affectionately as he lowered himself to her once more, unable to help himself.  
  
“I love you, Mrs. Thornton,” he whispered mere centimeters from her lips.  
  
Her lips irked up. “Not yet, Mr. Thornton,” she replied to his teasing.  
  
“Soon enough,” his words melting into her lips.  
  
Not ten seconds have passed, before loud knocking on the door could be heard. Our lovers, however keen to keep propriety, were too enamored to hear the loud footsteps from the hall.  
  
“Miss Margaret! Miss Margaret!” Dixon’s voice was unmistakable as both John and Margaret froze.  
  
Margaret quickly motioned for John to hide in the shadowy corner of the room and took the candle to the door.  
  
“Dixon, whatever is the matter?!” she said, trying to sound as sleepy and as calm as possible, trying to calm her beating heart as she registered John trying to merge into the background of the dark bedroom.  
  
“Miss Margaret, I hope you are better, because-“  
  
“Is it my mother? Oh God-“ she stammered as she felt dread all over her.  
  
“No, no, though she is worse, the poor dear, but no! It is a young woman, who is come, quite desperate to the house in search for you, a Mary Higgins or something,” Dixon replied impatiently. Margaret only now realized how underdressed Dixon truly was and realized she must have run here (or something similar to it, for the image of Dixon running was quite unimaginable).  
  
“Goodness me, it must be Bessy!” Margaret exclaimed. “I must get dressed and go to her!” Margaret wanted to turn around, but stopped, realizing that Dixon would then want to enter in order to help her dress.  
  
“Are you alright, Miss? We heard that there had been an accident but were assured that it was nothing bad. If you are not well, I will not let you go and send word to their house that you are indisposed. What was she thinking, seeking you so late in the evening?”  
  
“No, I am well, Dixon, I am well. I just… I need a minute, I will dress and go there immediately.”  
  
“I will help you dress, Miss, of course-“  
  
“No!” Margaret exclaimed a bit too loudly as Dixon approached the open door. “I mean, I will dress myself tonight, Dixon. I am sorry for being cross.”  
  
Dixon looked confused at her, but then shrugged and stepped back, allowing Margaret to close to door. She leaned her back against it, her heart beating so fast and loud she was sure Dixon could hear her through the door. The combination of having John in her room and Dixon almost discovering the fact with the fact that something must be very wrong with her friend left her mortified and afraid.  
  
She leapt for her things and clothes folded in the other corner of the room, motioning to John to leave, quietly. John came closer to her, and held her shoulder.  
  
“I cannot tell you that everything will be alright, because I do not know. But it will, it must be. I am here for you and we will manage everything,” he whispered in a soothing way.  
  
Margaret smiled at him, tears swelling in her eyes – partially because of her friend, but mainly due to the tenderness of the man standing before her. Who would have ever guessed that John Thornton, the stern Master of Marlborough Mills to be tender in any way?  
  
“Thank you, John,” she whispered back.  
  
He smiled at her. “I should go and leave you, if there is anyway how I can help-“  
¨   
“No, that is alright. But I really should get going,” she interrupted him.  
  
John made his way to the door, and as his hand was on the handle, a sudden noise startled him.  
  
“Miss, is everything alright? Should I go and help you?” Dixon’s voice must have echoed through the whole mill. John’s eyes were wide open as he realized that there is no escape for him, not yet, with Dixon staying by the door.  
  
“Eh, no, Dixon, everything is good, -“ Margaret stammered for an excuse, but since she did not want to lie, in the end she just added: “Just give me a minute!”  
  
She then turned to John, heat coming to her face. “I have to change,” she whispered slowly.  
  
John swallowed. “Right. Well, I will turn my face away, I will… Oh, I will go to that dark corner and just, well. Just stare into the wall,” he stammered through some words, unaware of even saying them.  
  
Margaret was thankful that he understood what she meant. It was scandalous and uncomfortable enough now, she realized, when John had seen her in her night attire, but to see her change completely was unthinkable!  
  
She went to the other side of the room and changed as quickly as possible, albeit with fumbling fingers, into the dress she wore the day before. It was dusty and there was some blood on the dress where it fell from her temple, but she pulled a shawl over it. She often looked at John, curious if he would look, but he stayed completely still. Though Margaret understood very little of the mature world of the married people, she knew that man had some sort of pleasure – exactly what left Margaret baffled – in watching scantly dressed women. From her education, Margaret understood desire and lust to be a sin and prohibited by society, and therefore found herself glad that John did not look. There was, however, a slight shock when she found, deep inside, a tiny desire for John to actually look. She brushed the thought aside and blushed deeply.  
  
“I am going, John,” she whispered towards the corner, the heat still not leaving her face.  
  
“Right. I will see you soon – I will come tomorrow, there will be some things to sort… And you know, I should probably speak with your father… God, it feels like a dream.” He said the last words as he made his way over to her and kissed her forehead.  
  
Margaret did not know what possessed her but she straightened herself and pressed her lips to his, whispering as she did so.  
  
“It does. But it is not.”  
  
She turned around and went out the door. He could hear her talking to Dixon, and if he were in a normal state, he would probably be curious about what she was telling his intended, but as it was, him in a complete state of shock and dreaminess, he could not care less. After he waited for a time, he slowly opened the door and made his way to his bedchamber, looking exactly as he left it. Thankfully, no servant was around to see him, so he slipped inside and closed the door.  
  
As he closed the door, the whole thing seemed even more as dream – he was still in his bedroom, dreaming a wonderful dream. The feeling of her lips on his, however, could not leave him and he knew it was not a dream, even though it felt like a complete dream come true. And it was, in a way.  
  
He sat down, supported by the door. He put his head in his hand, trying to shake away the complete feeling of happiness that he knew he should not feel when Margaret had been called to the deathbed – he supposed – of her dearest friend. But he could not shake it away.  
  
In the darkness of the night and the silence of the house, John Thornton found himself laughing with joy.  
  
  
\---------------------------   
The last thing Margaret was doing was laughing. As she clutched Bessy’s hand and held her on her bed, she found herself absolutely helpless.  
  
Even a worse feeling was the stab of guilt she felt when she realized most of her thoughts were consumed by John and not death or other such terrible things.  
  
She stayed with Bessy till the morning, knowing that if she would not die that day, she would surely die within a few. She wondered sadly if this was the last time she would ever see her, as she came home.  
  
However, at home, another surprise awaited her. Her mother had apparently been taken ill more than usual in the night. Margaret stayed with her whole day, trying to keep calm. In the afternoon, a servant came from Marlborough Mills with a note.  
  
_  
Dear Mr. Hale,  
  
I hope that you are all in good health. I am afraid I will have to cancel my tomorrow’s lesson. The strike has been broken yesterday so there is much to do.  
I hope I will be able to visit soon. There is something particular I would wish to discuss with you.  
Yours,  
  
John Thornton.  
_  
There was another piece of paper and Margaret was glad that the note made its way first to Margaret and not her father. She wondered at John, risking so much.  
_  
Dearest Margaret,  
  
I am sorry that I could not visit as I had said, it seems that I completely forgot about the fact I have a mill to run the last time we spoke…  
I understand the risk of writing to you and I shall ask your father for permission to do just that. I also want to request an audience with your father, the sooner the better I believe.  
It still feels like a dream.  
I hope I can see you soon, I must find a way to call at you one way or the other.  
I love you, my dearest Margaret, and I will love you forever.  
Forever yours,  
  
John  
_  
  
Margaret read the note over and over until she could almost recite it from memory. She gave the note to her father, leaving the other part only for herself. This was hers and no one else’s.  
  
“Discuss with me? Oh goodness, what must have happened? Oh, maybe your accident, Margaret, or some other thing like that,” her father murmured as he read the letter through.  
  
It had been days before Margaret saw John again, when they by chance met on the street. They exchanged some small talk, Margaret blushing enough to resemble a lobster, John, though his usual stern facial expression, with twinkling eyes. The rumors after the incident at the mill had started and them talking in the street only fueled it. But John had to leave soon to go back to the mill and so they parted, both leaving much unsaid.  
  
John was under great pressure from the work – the workers were still angry, though their hunger was greater than that; most of the Irish went home and those who stayed needed help with learning to work at the mill and all the orders had to be postponed. John worked himself to the bone, realizing that he could not fail – not only for his mother, but for Margaret as well. Though she had accepted him, she had accepted a powerful and rich man and he knew that Mr. Hale would consent to her daughter marrying if he had nothing. Though he believed in Margaret’s love and still found it unbelievable that she could hold such tender feelings for a man like him, he was afraid that he could not provide for her and only make her life miserable.  
  
Margaret’s days passed slowly, the days blending into each other as she spent most of her time with her mother or with Bessy.  
  
And then one day she visited Princeton, only to find Mary sobbing on the chair. Bessy’s face was, for the first time, peaceful. The dull pain in Margaret’s chest was hurtful and she did her best not to cry before Mary and Nicholas, as she tried to calm them both down, as well as with her father later that day.  
  
In the evening, she watched the busy street under her and thought of Bessy, as she saw a gentleman approach their house. Her heart leapt – could it be John?  
  
But then the gentleman took off his hat and Margaret could see, both disappointed and slightly disgusted, the face of William Colls. He was the last person in the world whom she wished to speak to, and so when Dixon came to her room to inform her of Mr. Colls calling on her, she told her to make him go away.  
  
“I have no wish to speak to that man, Dixon. Please tell him I am not feeling well, or think of something,” she said, a bit too hurriedly, remembering far too well the disgusting touches of said ‘gentleman’.  
  
“I thought as much, Miss. I will tell him you are indisposed,” and with that, she left. This was one of the things Margaret admired about Dixon – however much she might not like some of her other methods, she was truly loyal and understanding in such matters.  
  
A few minutes later, Margaret could see Mr. Colls leaving the house. With shock she realized that Mr. Colls was not the only person of interest in the street. She could see John, and even from afar she could see anger bottling up in him as he saw William Colls leaving the house. She hoped John would come to their house, but after a few words from the man, he took William Colls by a shoulder, and, trying to look as casual as ever, dragged him from the street and out of Margaret’s view. Her breath was ragged, and she felt quite afraid.  
  
About quarter of an hour later, John Thornton emerged back and, looking as stern and calm as ever, entered the house. Margaret almost ran from her room, then collected herself and with all the grace and elegance she could muster, went down the stairs. John Thornton, towering above everyone, was standing in the drawing room, pacing. He was the palest Margaret had ever seen him.  
  
As he noticed her standing in the doorway to the parlor, his eyes were gentle for a moment, then a new facial feature that Margaret did not yet know.  
  
“John, is everything alright, you look as if y-“  
  
“Why did you decide to come to the mill that day?” he said suddenly.  
  
“What?”  
  
“You promised me you would tell me,” John said. “Please, tell me,” he continued.  
  
Margaret paused for a moment. She did not know why he was asking, though she knew it had to be something to do with the man that John encountered in the street.  
  
“Indeed. I did. And I will, John, if you want to,” Margaret said slowly. She did not want to have secrets with him, that could hardly be good.  
  
John waited, as he watched her intently.  
  
“I did not want to tell you, because it is of no use to hurt ourselves more. But I told you I do not wish us to have secrets,” she continued.  
  
“Like I told you, I had a strange talk with my mother… about you. And I went for a walk. It was quite early, and I was thinking of how to find out my feelings. I knew I felt something for you, but I was not yet sure. Understand, John, I have never been in love before, so how could I tell?” she smiled softly. His gaze never left her.  
  
“As I was walking, I met… Well, you already know if you are asking after you have seen him. I met William Colls,” she continued, her heart beating.  
  
John drew in a harsh breath.  
  
“Yes. Well, I had no desire – we have talked of this before – to be in his presence but I was polite and tried to walk in the direction of Crampton so I could escape him. There was something wrong about him that day. He started talking to me in a strange way and I did not know what to do and then-“  
  
“Then?” John said before he could stop himself. Margaret drew a deep breath. She loved John and wanted him to know the truth, but she also knew that this would hurt him. There was some history between John and the man, and it was definitely unpleasant.  
  
“And he kissed me,” she said after a pause and watched him. His facial expression did not change as a whole, but he grew even paler – if that were at all possible – and his jaw clenched.  
  
“Bastard,” he uttered.  
  
“I pushed him away as soon as I realized what was happening and slapped him. And that is why I came to Marlborough Mills that day,” she continued.  
  
“I do not understand,” he said.  
  
“I realized, at that moment – and I wish it did not have to happen, John, I truly do – but I realized that I only… I do not want to sound improper. I only wanted to be touched and kissed by you…” she said.  
John smiled, finally.  
  
“Oh, thank God. I did not believe his words, but I had to know the truth from you first,” he said, as he approached her and caressed her face.  
  
“John, though it was uncomfortable and terrible, it helped me realize my affection for you. And nothing could change that. I do not know what he told you, but I assure you that if he spoke of something between us to make you jealous, nothing besides that what I have just told you had happened!” she continued.  
  
“He said… terrible things. But then again, he is a bastard, no news on that front. I hate to admit that I was so jealous, but that is only because I love you. I trust you; I just do not trust him…”  
  
“It is alright. I am glad, in a way, that you know. We do not have any secrets between us,” she said.  
  
John paused for a moment and looked uncomfortable.  
  
“Unless there is something you have not yet told me?” Margaret asked with a puzzled face. “Is it about Colls? You know him well, don’t you? He has done something to you, you would not be like this if he had not…”  
  
“You can read me like a book already, can’t you?” he said, smiling, then he turned serious. “Aye. He is a bastard. Margaret, I… I hate him. His father was in the business as well and… He is the man that cheated my father. He is the reason my father… He is the reason, Margaret, why my family went into ruin and his son is no different.”  
  
A few hours later, as the day turned into night, Margaret sat with her father in his study, pondering John’s confession and thinking of telling her father about John wanting to come tomorrow for an ‘audience’, when there was a knock on the downstairs door. Her father looked at her and she decided to go.  
  
As she opened the door, looking into the dark of the street, two eyes met her, so similar to her own.  
  
“Frederick!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!  
> I am sorry for the delay, but I was at a place with zero signal and minimal Wi-Fi for over two weeks so I was unable to publish. I am publishing now and there will be a few more chapters, though we are reaching the end...  
> Thank you everyone for reading, and, as always, I welcome any feedback, as long as constructive :)


	13. Chapter 13

John shifted in his seat anxiously. It had been three days since he has last spoken to Margaret, the three longest days in his life. He was supposed to visit Mr. Hale and finally, after months, ask him for Margaret’s hand. He felt a bit embarrassed – he yearned for having Margaret as his wife and knew that would make him look weak to the other mill owners if they knew. But for the first time, John cared not an inch about what they thought. After Margaret agreed to marry him – not only agree, she expressed the deepest feelings for him, of all people – there was nothing holding him back. He was prepared to sacrifice his feelings and heart for her benefit if she had decided she would not like to marry him. He did not want to trap her. But now, feelings admitted, offer accepted, he wanted nothing more than go to the nearest church and marry the only woman he had and would ever love.  
  
He shifted again and turned the letter in his hand, the words unchanged since the last time he looked.  
  
_  
John,  
  
I know that we have had a meeting arranged for today’s afternoon – an audience, as expressed by you, regarding some sensitive matter.  
  
I regret to inform you I must cancel our appointment as well as our next lesson later this week due to personal matters. I hope to see you soon, in order to discuss your business and to have another lesson – I will let you know of the date as soon as possible.  
  
Sincerely,  
  
Richard Hale  
_  
  
When the letter had arrived the morning after arranging such an audience, John had hoped for a letter from Margaret. He soon realized, that, though an engagement was agreed upon between them, no one else knew, and the gossip which would accompany her had anyone found out she had sent a letter to him would have been catastrophic. He did not want the other people to think that he had trapped Margaret into marrying him; and he definitely did not want the people to think that Margaret had trapped him. He would not mind, but he was afraid that Margaret would not enjoy that type of talk.  
The letter was short and told him exactly nothing. What were personal matters? He thought it was Mrs. Hale and her worsening state; it could have been many other things. A small part of him thought that maybe Margaret just changed her mind – he soon got rid of the thought. He now knew their love was true.  
  
He looked out of his window and saw two men squabble over something. It was time to do a round examination of the mill. He was about to get up when Williams opened the door.  
  
“A Mr. Colls, Master, to see you,” he said.  
  
John frowned. “What does he want?” he asked gruffly.  
  
Williams just shrugged. “Didn’t say.”  
  
“I don’t want to see him, send him away,” John said. After their last – well, let’s call it a conversation, shall we? – conversation, from which Colls emerged with a bit of a black eye and John anxious about Margaret, he had no desire to see him ever again. Alas, he had hoped that fifteen years ago or so as well after the death of his father, and yet here he was.  
  
“Will do,” said Williams and made way out of the office, when suddenly pushed aside as Colls entered the door.  
  
“Thornton!” he bellowed. John smirked when he saw his eyes covered with powder around them, attempting to cover his black eyes. If Colls had landed a single blow, John would have worn the black eye as a victory – a proof, that he could take it. He knew it was foolish, but he also knew he won that last argument and he was sure he would win the next one as well.  
  
“Colls, what do you want?” he asked.  
  
“Nothing much,” Colls answered, a sly smile on his face.  
  
“Then why are you here?” John replied, getting angrier by the second as he saw his smile. Colls was playing some kind of game, and John could already feel his blood starting boil.  
  
“I just stopped by, you know, to see my friend!” he explained, the smile not leaving.  
  
John could not keep himself from laughing sarcastically. “We have never been friends, and we never will be. Tell me what you want or get out, you are wasting my time.”  
  
“I bet I would not waste your time, Thornton,” Colls replied, with an unwavering gaze.  
  
John rolled his eyes. “I seriously doubt it. Get out, Colls. Unlike you, I have better things to do,” he said and started to look at some papers, hoping Colls would finally leave him be.  
  
“You have better things to do than… than concern yourself with the well-being of Margaret Hale?” he said innocently and smiled again when he saw John tense up a bit as he wrote something on a paper.  
  
John looked up slowly. “I thought I have made it perfectly clear that you have no business whatsoever regarding Miss Hale,” he replied.  
  
“And neither have you apparently,” Colls replied. John scoffed and continued reading.  
  
“A canceled audience? That stinks, Thornton, I pity you, truly,” Colls continued as John’s blood began to rage. How did he know?  
  
“And now that new man… That is harsh – I never knew Margaret would be capable of such a …”  
  
John leaped out of his chair before he could even finish the sentence.  
  
  
  
\--------------------------------------------  
Margaret sat in her room, reading a book. Though she would never admit it, she had seated herself next to the window with a single purpose. She had hoped to see John at least walk past. She knew, of course, that he could not find out about Frederick, at least not before he had left the country. She knew that, as a magistrate, he had his responsibilities and she would have just made his position harder. At the same time, she wished for nothing more than for John to walk through the street to the house, sweep her up in his large arms, and never let go. Margaret shuddered. Was it wanton, she wondered, for her to think about John in that way? Officially, they were not engaged, and yet Margaret could not wait for becoming John’s wife, in every sense of the word. She found herself blushing, thinking of John’s arms around her, of the warm embraces they have shared and of the ones they will, one day.  
  
But instead of John, the only person who had come to their house was Mr. Colls, again. Dixon threw him out – hopefully before he had seen anything incriminating. She knew the danger of someone like Colls finding out about Frederick. No one must know until he is safely back in Spain.  
  
And so she waited, spending time with her mother and then leaving Frederick with her, making up for the years they had spent apart. She knew death was close. They all knew. And she also knew that she would have to be strong.  
  
The selfish part of her had hoped that she and John could become engaged before her mother died so that they could marry after the mourning period. But she understood that it was not possible and blamed herself for such selfish thoughts.  
  
But then one day, her mother called her to her bedchamber. Mrs. Hale was now getting weaker every day and everyone knew it was just a matter of weeks or even days. Margaret tried not to think about that.  
  
Before Margaret could even ask her mother how she was feeling that day, her mother began on her own.  
  
“Margaret… I do not have long and there is something that needs to be taken care of,” she said.  
  
Margaret nodded. “Whatever you need, mother,” she answered.  
  
Maria Hale smiled a bit. “No, my dear. Whatever you need.”  
  
Margaret looked confused at her mother.  
  
“Do you remember that conversation we have had some time back? During the strike?” her mother asked.  
  
“Yes,” was all Margaret could muster.  
  
“Margaret, some things are more important than others. I will surely die in the coming weeks and there is nothing we can do to change that. But you can achieve happiness sooner, that is something we can change,” her mother continued slowly.  
  
“How do you mean?” Margaret blushed since she thought she had caught her meaning.  
  
“Has he asked you already? Mr. Thornton?” her mother asked. Margaret blushed, a deep red settling on her skin while she nodded.  
  
“And you are sure?” her mother continued. Margaret nodded again.  
  
“Then we must act quickly, my dear. Marrying for love is the greatest thing there is and I trust you will find happiness. We must announce it before my death.” Her mother had never spoken so openly before and left Margaret flabbergasted.  
  
“And Papa…?”  
  
“Oh, he is blind to these things, so blind. He has no idea, I am sure. He thought the audience Mr. Thornton had requested concerned some business arrangement regarding the mill,” her mother chuckled slightly.  
  
“But Frederick..” Margaret started.  
  
“He will hide for an hour,” her mother continued, “he is used to that.”  
  
  
  
\----------------------------------------  
As William Colls made his way through the street home, he noticed many people whispering and talking in small groups. He wondered what kind of gossip it was this time.  
  
As he settled himself in the armchair in his office, tea tray ready at his disposal, he opened the newspaper to find out. The teacup fell to the floor as he yelped, never so shocked in his life.  
  
**FORTHCOMING MARRIAGES**  
_Announcement is made of the engagement of Miss Margaret Hale, daughter of Mr. Richard Hale of Helstone; and Mr. John Thornton of Milton._  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I am so sorry for taking so long to post, the last month and a half have been crazy! This is a shorter chapter, but I will post more soon, this time I truly mean it! I mean to finish this story before Christmas. As always, any comments, feedback, kudos, etc. are very welcome. Thank you for reading!


	14. Chapter 14

John shifted from one leg to another as he knocked on the door. Dixon opened them with a hint of a smile and let him inside.  
  
“Mr. Hale is waiting for you in the study, Mr. Thornton,” she said. He nodded curtly and made his way up the stairs in large strides, trying to look as normal as ever, though his heartbeat was louder than the church clock and so quick, he thought it would all end soon. Never before had he been so nervous, not even when he went to his father’s funeral or when he had his first meetings in the bank or other Masters.  
  
The door to the study was closed, but the other one in the hall was open and John could see Margaret standing by the door. Their eyes met for a split second and she smiled shyly, but also encouragingly at him. John wanted nothing more than to go to her and take her to Gretna Green that instant.  
  
The door to the study opened and Mr. Hale looked at him. “John, come on in!! he said warmly.  
  
John looked at Margaret one last time and entered the small, albeit impressive study. Mr. Hale motioned for him to sit down.  
  
“Can I offer tea?” Mr. Hale asked as John sat down.  
  
“No, thank you,” John answered, his voice unusually hoarse.  
  
“Something stronger perhaps?” Mr. Hale asked with a twinkle in his eye.  
  
John only shook his head. Mr. Hale sat down opposite him and took a sip from the drink he prepared for himself in advance.  
  
“So, John. When you requested an audience, I did not know what it might be about, but I think I figured it out,” Mr. Hale said.  
  
“You- you did?” John stammered. He had a speech prepared, but what was he to do now? Why could there not be a handbook that would tell him?  
  
Mr. Hale looked at him for a long time and John swore he had never been more intimidated in his life.  
  
“Yes. And I think it is wonderful that you came to me on how to improve the working conditions at the mill. I know we have discussed it plenty in the past, but I think the strike has only shown us how important it is to concentrate on it. Now, from a psychological point of view, I would concentrate on limiting the work of children – no parent wants to have children knowing they will work to their bone from the age of eight. From a philosophical standpoint, I think a citation from Plato-“  
  
“Mr. Hale,” John finally managed to say.  
  
Mr. Hale stopped and looked at him quizzically.  
  
“As much as I appreciate your help and your – well – your guidance, I am come on an entirely different matter. It has nothing to do with business,” John continued, using his newfound courage.  
“What is it, John? Has something happened? Do you need our help? We do not have much, but-“  
  
“No, Mr. Hale, it is not that. I have come to, where are the words when I need them?” he muttered as he shifted in his seat.  
  
Mr. Hale patiently waited as he examined the nervous man before him, wondering what on Earth this “audience” was about.  
  
The flash of Margaret’s eyes was before John’s own and he found his voice once again. “I have come to ask for Margaret. For her hand, I mean. In marriage,” he said. _Great_ , he thought, _that does not sound strange and business-like at all._  
  
Mr. Hale stared at him for a good half a minute, the longest thirty seconds in John’s life. John’s hand started to fidget as he ran the words in his head, again and again, realizing how utterly stupid he sounded and awaited his response.  
  
\-------------------------------   
Richard Hale was absolutely stunned. His wife, though unwell, was the one to persuade him to meet John Thornton that day. He assured her that it would not take long and that it was only something concerning his business. Mrs. Hale had alluded to something else as well, but he did not make much of it. About half an hour before John arrived, he had hidden Frederick in one of the upper bedrooms along with all his – albeit not many – things. Frederick’s humor and jokes about Mr. Thornton’s coming were completely lost on him. His daughter had been nervously looking at him the whole day and trying to say something to him, but always failed. She blushed furiously when there was a knock on the door and Dixon had been anxious all day. And yet, Mr. Hale suspected nothing. He thought that they were all nervous because of Frederick.  
  
He had thought that John wanted to discuss the strike, perhaps even request some guidance regarding the workers. Perhaps a friendly recommendation or help.  
  
He never could have imagined this. After staring at his pupil for a solid thirty seconds, he finally moved his lips.  
  
“What?” was all he said, still shocked.  
  
John tensed up, now even more nervous than before. The dream in his head of being with Margaret, which had been so close and real now that she had accepted him, seemed to vanish before his eyes as he watched the older man before him look shocked.  
  
John decided that this was his chance.  
  
“I.. I wish to marry your daughter. I am in love with her. Have been for the last couple of months. I have admired her from the moment we met and wish to spend the rest of my life with her by my side,” he said, trying to sound confident as what he was saying was undoubtedly true.  
  
Mr. Hale let out a short shocked laugh. “John… I.. You know I like you immensely and consider you my friend. And if Margaret would feel the same way for you, I would not object at all, but, my friend, I am afraid that she will not have you. I am not sure she is so fond of you as you are of her, or at all, for that matter – pray, remember her arguing with you at the dinner party, the way she spoke to you. She may have been warmer to you in the last weeks, but do not mistake it for more,…” Mr. Hale truly looked lost as he finished his speech.  
  
Now it was John’s turn to laugh. _Warmer indeed_ , John thought with almost a smirk.  
  
“Mr. Hale, if I may. You say that if she would feel the same for me, you would have accepted my offer. And I am very glad you said that, because… She has already accepted me,” John said with a silent pride in his voice.  
  
If Mr. Hale had been shocked before, it had been nothing compared to what he felt now. And then the realization came to him. The secret glances between them, her flushed cheeks whenever Mr. Thornton came for a lesson, Margaret’s offer of delivering the book back. Mrs. Hale’s words, Dixon’s anxious smiles, Frederick’s comments, and insinuations. It all made sense to him, all of a sudden.  
  
Richard Hale started to laugh, sincerely, for the first time since he moved to Milton.  
  
\--------------------------   
Margaret was looking out the window again, time flowing by far too slowly to her liking. John had been there far too long. From all the books she had read in which the heroine is being proposed to, the hero did not spend too much time with the father. Usually, he would instantly agree and within five minutes the heroine would be called to have it all confirmed.  
  
John had come almost half an hour ago or so, and Margaret had been getting more anxious by the minute ever since. What if her father would be against it? What if he would talk John out of it. She clutched the ring on her necklace, carefully hidden away from sight. She could not wait to put it back on her finger where it belonged.  
  
And then suddenly the door opened, and John came in, followed by Dixon.  
  
“You are wanted in the study, Miss,” Dixon bellowed at her. She looked at John, who was smiling widely, a sight so unusual and yet so warm she knew all would work out.  
She entered the study and sat opposite her father. He looked at her with an unwavering gaze and smiled warmly.  
  
“Are you sure, Margaret?” he asked, watching her closely.  
  
“Yes, Father. I am sure. I love him, truly and unconditionally,” she answered, tears forming in her eyes. She could see that her father had tears in his eyes as well.  
  
“Well then. There is nothing to discuss,” Mr. Hale replied as a tear escaped his eye.  
  
And, though the feeling of selfishness was pawing at her heart, Margaret decided to push it away and just allow herself to be happy as she entered the parlor and put her lips to John’s without a thought for propriety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! just a shorter, fluffy chapter before everything goes down :)) Thank you everyone for reading and as always, any feedback is welcome! Another chapter soon!


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